A Horseman's Syllabary
by Methodical Madness
Summary: Picking apart the Horsemen and their worlds- or perhaps words, from A to Z- Because, while what starts with War ends with Death, you can't forget Fury and Strife between the two of them... Or the one who spells them out. A series of one-shots following the alphabet. So expect 26 of them. Maybe. Post-game, snippets of things both humorous and serious in nature.
1. avenge

**Avenge**

* * *

Taking a tour of Death's home was something I hadn't even conceived of, because I wasn't exactly under the impression that he _had_ a home. It was a silly assumption, however. While they had served the Council as enforcers for the most part, their main job was to raise hell, pun unintended, when the time of the Endwar came.

So, what else were they supposed to do with their time?

I felt extremely foolish at the dry sidelong look I'd been given, once I'd been shown inside the stone… Fortress? I bet my money on 'fortress'.

Here on the old Raviim home-world, there was not a single other soul— Which is exactly what I was looking for. No people, no funny business.

" _It is one of the many worlds myself and our brethren laid waste to,"_ Death had explained to me one time. _"It's for that reason that I make it my home. You can consider it yours, as well."_

That was an abnormally kind sentiment from the sharp-tongued Horseman, so I'd accepted it as graciously as possible.

I just wasn't expecting lil' bro to be visiting at the same time.

"Oh. Hey, War." I blinked and smiled at the armored behemoth— God, let no one ever tell him I called him that— as he sat in a chair in… Was this a foyer? It was a foyer, I think. I was about as sure of that as I was that we were in a fortress. "I didn't know you were coming over too."

At attention, as he always was, the Red Rider leaned forward, looking serious. Oh boy. "I was told you were being brought here for restoration." Featureless, glowing eyes flicked towards his older brother behind me. "I may be willing to act on faith alone, but my brother would not."

Oh. _Oh._ I turned to Death, narrowing my eyes to peer into his mask. "You— Sneaky, sneaky— Ugh." I rubbed a cheek. "You brought me here so I'd be out of the way, huh? I get what I want, you get what you want. Except…" I shook my head. "What you want isn't what I want."

Death folded his arms, shooting a reproachful glance to his younger brother for spilling the beans. "I thought you would think fondly upon the idea of someone fighting for your sake." His tone was plain and a little offended. "It was going to be a gift."

I choked. "Last time someone gave me a dismembered head as a present, I had to spend a few days locked in a cell." I quickly made to head _that_ off. …Pun unintended. "So no. No revenge. I don't want it."

If anything, the Pale Rider seemed _incredulous._ "So you _don't_ want me to inflict pain upon those who bear you ill?" He uttered, and I could see his eyelids drop in bafflement. "I can't say I saw this coming."

I sighed and held true to my patience, holding a hand up. "I am saying to you the same I did to Strife, and to Fury." I explained quietly, sending a quick glance to War to see if he was listening. He's good at that I suppose, though. "You let things go sometimes. If the thorns hurt from holding on, then you let the damn vine go. Then you can bleed, and then let it heal over. If any of you acted out now, let alone in my name… So, please. Just don't. Okay?" I spread my palms to them both.

War looked away, but his lack of speech told me he understood— Death, however, sighed and pushed my arms back to my sides. "It is understood." He sighed again, but this seemed too _easy_ …

I glared at him in suspicion. "I can count on War to hold his word. You, I'm a little worried about." I stated bluntly, and I heard a soft bark of laughter from the Red Rider off to the side.

"It sounds like she knows you well, brother." War commented, almost idly. He shifted into more of a lounging position, the quiet scraping and metallic rattling of his armor one of the few sounds denoting _safety_ in these worlds.

Death only made a hum of assent.

I laughed. "I think I prefer the less-violent ways of getting back at someone, anyway— More fun, and repeatable too."

War disagreed. "Less permanent."

Death did the same. "More dangerous."

I smiled. "Isn't that what you two are for?"


	2. beauty

**Beauty**

* * *

When entering the Forge Lands, one would be hard-pressed to see something revealing that it was in the twilight of its life. It was too verdant, too teeming with life and nature to notice it by the naked eye alone.

But Death saw it, and he also saw his namesake being fought off, as well.

"Ho— Hold on! A little further to the left, or the rope's going to break!"

The weather was fair, but the sun was harsh to anyone who remained under its rays for too long— So he stayed in the shadows of a stone wall, arms folded as he continued supervising the construction.

Or, more specifically, the girl aiding the Makers in their efforts.

She'd felt, unduly to be sure, responsible for the near-ruin Tri-Stone had been left in their wake. The Pale Rider had been asked to escort her back to the wild, lush world so she could lend whatever help she was capable of. He'd failed in dissuading her— _"What would a little girl be able to do for the Makers?"—_ and since that argument didn't work any better than the last time he'd used it, he gave in.

"Whoa, whoa. Thane, cool it a little. You're going to break the pillar if you don't release the pressure slowly." He blinked back to attention just to see that tiny female wag her finger at a being about fifteen times her size. He huffed bemusedly as the Maker scowled, but did as he was told anyway.

Someone telling a _Maker_ how to build something? Death could have laughed. They must favor her terribly, or the wizened people wouldn't have put up with something so closely resembling insolence.

"All right, Valgus. Cut your lines, and Thane— Loosen your grip the further it goes, okay? I don't want it rocking back at you."

The silent, hulking forge-brother obeyed, and snapped the twined cable between his hands. Pressure released, the Pale Rider watched as the repaired pillar was slowly pulled upright, its base settling in its former place snugly. Then, the warrior-Maker let his own rope go, the counter-balance removed so it would stay where it was.

Wiping the sweat glistening on her forehead, the smallest of them all cheered and applauded them. "See? That's how the humans did it. Entire empires were built with only hands and stone, no glowy magic lifting things into place or constructs to do the heavy-moving." She giggled at their thoughtful, tired expressions, and then squealed as she was taken by surprise— Karn had approached from behind and plucked her from the ground like one would a dandelion, setting her onto his shoulder with a crooked grin.

"Yea yea," the Maker drawled, giving her a little jostle. "Ye had some o' the finest Makers at yer service, lass. How many o' Man would it'a taken?"

The work-worn girl pushed her hair back sheepishly. "At least fifty, on each side." She admitted, squinting under the sunlight. Then she laughed. "Are you trying to get me to say how great the Makers are, or how weak the humans are?" It was asked teasingly, and the Maker shook her a little bit more with a particularly happy face.

"Oi, now." Once more, the girl was picked up like a bird hatchling, but this time she was set back onto her feet. Alya gave the pup a slightly reprimanding look, a hand idly patting down the girl's mussed hair in the meantime. "Handle the lass with care, Karn."

The youngest Maker rolled his eyes. "Ye don't need to tell me, I know. But lil' one can take a bit o' fun, though, can'tya?"

The flushed girl chuckled, while the red-haired forge-sister continued fussing.

If Death didn't know any better… He'd say that this looked like a family.

One like he had, where she'd carved her own niche and settled down in it unapologetically. This may have been an easier family to accrue, however. The Makers had already lost so many young ones to the Corruption, and only time would be the deciding factor if their race were to continue or die out.

Suddenly, his charge caught his eye, still standing in the shadows and waiting… Smiling, she nodded just once, if in thanks or agreement to something unspoken he didn't know.

Death saw colors, and it was a question he had no answer for, whether something as cancerous as he was allowed them.

But he found himself nodding back, which made that smile grow, flashing in the bright sun, against grey walls and a blue sky—…

He didn't mind a little color.


	3. chase

**Chase**

* * *

" _Come on sweetie, let's show 'im what we got!"_

War wasn't expecting it, when his companion gave that reaction when speaking of their mounts. While Ruin was standoffish to her, he at least tolerated her presence. But Terror was downright _unfriendly_ to him, and the Horseman ran the risk of being bitten if he strayed too close while the beast was summoned.

The equine had arisen from the earth like a ghoul would break out of its grave, a black ichor gathering around his cloven feet and anywhere they stepped. To be frank, the animal looked as if someone had skinned it and forgot to inform it of the fact— The bleeding-red musculature was bare around the ivory bone, and the blood vessels were glistening with the same ichor sloughing to the dirt below.

He'd said it when he earned her the beast, but it didn't suit her at all. She, who smiled and forgave and cherished, obtaining a mount so gruesome… The phantoms granted by the Horsemaster were said to take the attributes of their masters once tamed, and War had yet to see which facet of her this creature reflected.

She'd mounted her horse with an ease that surprised him, and sent a playful, challenging look over her shoulder before declaring the contest.

It had been a fierce, clenching anticipation that had seized him for a moment, giving her just that much head start. But then he took off at a run, calling his own steed beneath him to keep the momentum.

The flames that licked the ground and sparks that jumped high only seemed to mirror his excitement, and he gaily asked himself when such a simple thing as a _race_ had started scintillating him this much.

A challenge was a challenge, however, and one of his greatest failings was that he could not deny a contest when given by his brethren. And, while she was not brethren…

He caught sight of her soon enough, and leaned lower, urging Ruin faster. The blackened beast gave a deep whinny in response, an extra flare of flame appearing as he obeyed.

But, then his object of pursuit swerved, leaving the grassy field and entering the adjacent treeline. Then he realized it, lips curling up in an appreciative, fanged half-grin— Her posture was relaxed, keeping Terror at a pace that was barely a gallop, but not quite a canter. Swiftly and adroitly the skeletal equine weaved through the trees and underbrush, but the bulkier Ruin didn't have as easy a time of it. He was forced to slow down to compensate for the wide curve his girth needed to make at turns, and soon that figure in the distance started growing smaller, flickering between trees.

She was _playing_ with him.

It was a game he could play, as well.

* * *

I didn't think much of it, when I heard the heavy hoof beats of Ruin start spacing out a little more. I know it was a little underhanded, leading him into the woods, but there was no way I was going to subject poor Terror to the thorough beating that Ruin's stamina could put him through. I know babying him wasn't exactly smart, but I haven't tested his limits yet… And I really wanted to win against War.

I knew War couldn't resist his competitive urges— Or perhaps it was the exasperation, that the girl was heading yet into more trouble. I don't know, they seem a little the same to me…

Then, strangely, the direction I was hearing those hoof beats from started changing. It was very slight at first, and I'd attributed it to echoing off of the various rocks we were passing, entering a ravine.

But then I realized that I was starting to hear them from _above_ , but it was already too late.

I made a loud, unflattering sound of complaint as I was hit with something bearing the force of a boulder, knocked right off of Terror's back. He gave a screech in dismay, but everything moved too quickly for me to reassure him.

I tumbled with that something all the way down the rest of the ravine, the red, silver and gold flashing in between the green and brown telling me that I'd been dive-bombed by the Rider himself. Then again, amidst all the rough-and-tumble, I barely hit the ground at all, taking into account his impressive size and the possibility that he was shielding me from the crunching undergrowth.

In a matter of seconds, we spilled out into a small clearing, and I flopped onto my back in the grass with a wheezing laugh. Trying to catch my breath, I gazed at the Red Rider, as he immediately set to pulling himself to his feet. I grinned lackadaisically, not even bothering to do the same.

"Guess I lost." I conceded with faux reluctance, giving a shrug in woe.

The scarred face of the Horseman just looked back at me for a long moment, and his brows then lifted in… Resignation? Then he let out a breath— Oh no, War _never_ sighed, it was 'beneath' him, I thought with a tired giggle— and reached down, grasping my arm and lifting me to stand. All without any effort on my part, believe it or not.

Once my feet hit the ground firmly, he looked at me oddly. His head was cocked back a little, like he smelled something funny, and his risen browline flicked a little before settling back down.

"No, you didn't."

I was given a push to go ahead of him, and I could only squawk as I looked over my shoulder, trying to see his face as I was spurred forth. Well, if that's how he wanted to play it…

"Catch me if you can."

I took off like a bat out of hell, cackling to myself, and I could _hear_ him roll his eyes before taking off after me.

I guess I did win.


	4. deception

**Deception**

* * *

Hanging upside down isn't as fun as everyone thinks.

Well, make that _almost_ upside down. If I was left completely upside down for this long, the pressure from my blood would have burst the vessels in my head a long time ago.

But the sticky, stringy webbing coiled around me gave me no room to even wriggle, and the fact that my mouth had been smothered didn't help, either.

So, when I saw the head of flowing purple locks approach, you can say I couldn't thrash around to catch her attention, nor cry out to let her know I was there. All I could do was watch her approach the shadow on the floor. It was hunched over, sobbing in a voice that sounded identical to mine— And I hated the thought that she may be tricked by it.

There was even a pool of blood near it, though that actually _was_ mine, and any authenticity it lent to the scheme was purely coincidental. Spider webs are supposed to be very proficient at staunching wounds, so I'm lucky in that aspect, at least.

"…Are you all right?" I heard Fury ask hesitantly, kneeling beside the shadow. Oh, I hope that she catches on in time…

The sobbing didn't lessen, but I heard my voice muffle, "It hurts— Please, make it stop hurting. Make it not hurt anymore…" Wow. Does the real me sound that convincing?

Fury's face softened, and she reached forth with a hand… The weeping died out a little, sounding more like small, strange chuckles than anything.

Her hand landed on what would be 'my' back, and it all went so fast from there.

The shadow whirled around, a semi-arachnid, humanoid form being shown from beneath. It had lunged at her in the same instant, but… With the same soft expression on her face, Fury lashed out with her arm, catching it around the neck with a whip of bright violet energy. It shrieked, and I was a little glad that at least _that_ didn't sound like me, too.

I didn't even see her arm move. The creature was swung into a wall, creating a small crater upon impact. It wasn't given any reprieve, though; back and forth, back and forth it was smashed from the wall to the floor, wall to the floor, back and again… That crater wasn't so small by the time she'd dropped the… lump… to the floor. The weapon was put away with the same anticlimactic simplicity, and she pushed to her feet, scanning the room with her eyes…

She found me soon enough, and I tried sending a smile with my eyes in congratulations. It was pretty dark in this corner, so I know _I_ wouldn't have seen me.

Not a muscle was tensed, when she leapt up to me, fingers grasping at the webbing and pulling, relentlessly… It stretched for quite a while, but even it couldn't stand up to the prolonged tension. There was a loud rip as the 'cocoon' around me split from one end to the other, and I nearly fell straight to the ground on my face.

An arm caught me around the belly, though, and I nearly hissed at the pressure against the wound. Once I was set onto my feet, I wobbled and leaned into the female Nephilim, holding my obviously-bloodstained side.

"Hey, watch," She cautioned me, prying my hand away so she could see it. Thin, strong brows furrowed as she peeled the ripped edge of my shirt away, and she glanced at the exit of the cave briefly. "Come, we must be quick. I can find somewhere safe to bind the wound, but I will need to call little brother to see to its healing."

I didn't need to know which 'little brother' she was talking about. "Nooo." I complained with a cracked voice, feeling woozy from the blood now given freedom to leave my body. It took me a second to recollect myself after she'd abruptly scooped me up. With that strength— She's her brothers' sister, all right… "Don't tell War. No telling War." I uselessly pawed at one of her cheeks with my fingertips. "Whenever I get hurt, he gets this stiff look on his face, and it makes me feel like it's all my fault…"

I was yanked into lucid thought for a moment or two at the shock of a slightly melodic laugh being let out into the air. "I believe I know which look you are talking about." She took up her conversational tone, evidently to keep me awake. Strangely enough, she was the most personable of the siblings… With the slight exception of Strife, who just has this thing with not being able to say what he really means. Or he words it in a very bad way. Which is why he and Death don't get along at all. Strife says harsh things, but doesn't mean them; Death means every word of everything he says… "Brother War doesn't blame you for events out of your hands." My thoughts were interrupted by her further reassurance. "It isn't in his nature to ply fault where it doesn't stick. That face…" She gave a brief hum of contemplation. "This is just my interpretation, but I believe that's just his displeasure over it. The rest of us can take a thrashing, but he fears your life to be fleeting more than anything else. A fear all of us share."

I watched her curiously, becoming slightly dizzy from the sway of walking. "You guys sure play it close to the chest, then." I mumbled. "I don't think I've seen any of you uncertain or afraid of anything. You especially. You're always so… Calm."

Fury made a funny face at me. "Do not mistake composure for serenity." She admonished gently. "Death and Strife are one thing, but you don't _want_ War to lose his composure. The last time he shed it completely, he lost his arm. Though…" A small smile was given to me. "That was the deciding factor of you getting to be here with us today, isn't it?"

I ducked my head as far as I could, extremely embarrassed at the unusually fond tone she used. "…I just don't want to worry you anymore." I murmured.

She expelled a sigh, and pursed her lips. "No." Was suddenly spouted into the air. "No, keep worrying us." At my baffled look, she elaborated, "It keeps our heads in the game, and reminds us that we are still capable of caring, even if for things that are few in number. I'm not saying to deliberately dive into danger, but… Keep the boys guessing and worried, and I'll… Worry in my own way."

I could have laughed, if it wouldn't have left me in deep throes of pain. "So, in a nutshell," I reiterated wanly. "You're telling me to drive them crazy, and you'll go crazy on your own so it's okay?"

She thought for a long period of time. Then she nodded.

"Precisely."

I let my head fall against her shoulder, no longer able to keep it up. She lifted her arms to accommodate, and I could only say one thing before passing out.

"Got it."


	5. eden

**Eden**

* * *

"I hadn't thought you would ever visit this place again."

I jumped nearly three feet in the air, nose buried in my new book and unaware of the one whom had gotten close. I peeked over the edge of the pages and blinked at who it was, that had come to see me.

"Azrael," I blurted without thinking, my surprise evident. "I thought the White City was going to keep a tighter leash on you, but look where you are now." I smiled, closing my book and waving it. "I came to Lostlight to deliver a message to Nathaniel. He has family back in the City, and travel between worlds is still restricted for everyone else, so I was just letting everyone know how he was doing and vice-versa. And I got a nice present in thanks." I made the book dance a little to show my literary joy.

A faint smile came upon the bronze-skinned angel's face, making the lines of stress disappear a little. "It's nice to see good deeds do not remain unrewarded." He agreed, then bowing his head and gesturing to the side. "Would you walk with me for a bit?"

I grinned and hopped to my feet, tucking the book in my pouch and mirroring his gesture. "Well, I can't float like you, but I can do that walking thing if I put my mind to it." I tapped my feet on the ground as if in discovery. "Yep, still good at it. Shall we?"

A complicated look of amusement and bemusement crossed his narrow features, and his words had me coughing back laughter. "Has anyone ever told you that you're the slightest bit silly?" He asked mildly, folding his hands into his sleeves as we started our stroll.

"Who, me? Nahh." I waved my hand in blatant dismissal, earning a glance that was more bemused than anything. Then I let out a small sigh, smiling wryly. But he'd remarked on it before I'd even gotten to explain.

"It's hard to picture someone so lighthearted living amongst the ranks of the Nephilim." This next glance was a sidelong one, and I absently smacked at my ankle, squishing the gnat that was bothering me. Never thought golden grass could mean anything other than it was dead, but this grass was very much alive— Along with the auburn-leaved trees, with their pale pearl bark… This place was a sight to behold, but ridden with summertime insects.

"Ranks? What ranks?" I gave him a look, flicking my brows. "They aren't _miserable_ , but they don't lead easy lives, either. So I try to brighten up what little moments I can. Think about it for a second." I hummed for a brief second, to get my voice warmed up for speech. "Everyone ostracizes Death for leading the massacre of his kin, regardless of… Who ordered it. He agreed to it, knowing it was the right thing to do. What if he decided not to, though?" My eyes met with a glowing pair quietly. "He'd still be branded the pariah for holding his fellow Nephilim above the survival of the Balance. He lives with the title of Kinslayer, but he still did the right thing. And all four of them have to live with those circumstances." I then bobbed my head, vanishing the grave atmosphere that had gathered around us. "I like to think I knock everyone down to the same peg." I winked at him, and his countenance spelled nothing but confusion.

"But surely they are not the only ones living with misfortune hovering over them." The Angel of Death canted his head to the side, bidding me to clarify. So I did.

"Of course not. But I _am_ only one person." I commented dryly. "While I'm not likely to drop by down in Hell to try and liven up someone's day, I don't mind wandering around others too. Because, regardless if your wings are white or black, wear horns or a halo, swing a hammer or swords… You're all still individual people with woes and problems. And since _I_ don't get to pick a side, I get to be the lucky gal to annoy everyone enough to forget that the world's ending or whatever's going on."

I stuck my hands into my pockets, feeling triumphant as the angel merely shook his head, gliding through the air beside me silently for the longest time. Must have given him something to think about, then. Satisfied with just that, I'd taken to looking at our surroundings, and skid to a stop.

Azrael noticed my preoccupation, and looked back at me. "Is something wrong?" He asked, concerned.

I am ashamed to admit that my voice cracked terribly when I responded. "We are _not_ in Lostlight anymore." I stared at him blankly, overwhelmed. All the ivory architecture, gilded in gold and silver, carved with stone guardians of griffins… "Did you just walk me through a portal without me knowing it?" I could only glance at him fleetingly, and it finally hit me, why this place was so familiar. "Holy—" I clapped a hand over my mouth. Bad thing to say around an angel… Wiping my hand away, I turned to him with my eyes bugging out. "We're in _Eden_. I thought you said nobody could come here anymore!"

"I'd also said that my life would be forfeit once the Balance was restored, due to my involvement." He mentioned this almost _meaningfully._ "However, due to the involvement of another, I am still alive. Someone managed to convince the Red Rider that collecting my life would not be in his best interests. An impressive feat for anyone, certainly."

Oh, oh no— I pointedly kept my eyes on the smooth marble beneath my feet, feeling my cheeks burn. Dammit War, you weren't supposed to say anything… "He already didn't want to kill you," I grumbled, rubbing the back of my neck. "But his honor was still infringed upon, so all I needed to do was give him an excuse not to do it. It wasn't that hard."

"So it _was_ you." He actually sounded surprised, and I shot him a dirty look for tricking me. But he smiled again, and it's always been hard to stay angry when an angel smiles. "I had figured as much, but I wanted to be certain. I am sorry for the subterfuge."

"Yeah yeah." I waved it off, finally looking up at him ruefully. "So you're here. And, at the moment, so am I. The only question is, why?" I watched him expectantly, and nearly busted a hole in the ground with how hard my jaw fell at his simple reply.

"I'm giving it to you."

And oh, did I have things to say to _that_. "What? What?" I never said they were _intelligent_ things… "You mean that you're taking the realm that pretty much everyone killed each other over, and after locking it away, you smuggle me the key because of _why?_ " My voice jumped an octave. "Azrael, do you know how many people would be out to _kill_ me if they found out? Not to mention the Horsemen— They said they didn't want Eden, but they were still denied a world of their own and I don't know how they really feel about it, and—"

A finger tapped upon my lips silenced me, and I stared blankly, waiting for some sort of explanation for the bomb of disorientation he dropped on me. He merely gazed down at me, and then patiently gave his reasoning. "It is a stigma upon us all, that Man was unable to be given the world originally made for them. It had been crafted with the love of the ancients, and perhaps they would have obtained a different fate, had they been nurtured there." His finger fell away, and he drew up to his full height, all proud, wide wings and ornate robes… "But the past can do nothing but be reflected upon. It is dead, and the present dying— Only the future truly lives. And it is a sad future for a place so grand and full of potential, to remain empty and rotting for the rest of its days." He inclined his head, as if expecting me to understand. "So I am respecting the kindness with which its spires had been wrought, and giving it kindness in return."

A hand was held up, and a lustrous, aureate light twisted and twirled from his palm. It looked almost ticklish… I glanced around nervously, before sighing and peering up at him in defeat. If he was that heartfelt about it… Denying would be nothing but an insult to his noble intentions. "…I suppose I can stop by every now and then." I conceded with a large sigh. "Has anyone ever told you that you're a little too nice for your own good?"

That hand gently pressed to my forehead, and the only thing I noticed while absorbing the 'key' was that it was very warm.

Then he pulled a trick out of my book, smiling serenely.

"Who, I? Certainly not."


	6. façade

**Façade**

* * *

"Do you want to explain _how_ you got into this situation, or should I just step back and watch the show?"

I don't know who it was that suddenly decided they wanted a farm of Prowlers, but I was sure I wanted to carve my thanks very clearly into their hide.

Even through his face-obscuring body-armor, I could sense Strife's all-encompassing exasperation with me. "I didn't _get_ into this situation!" I half-whined, half-growled in exertion as I spun a slash at another brave, ground-crawling demon. I wasn't as proficient with my scythes as, say, Death— And while he hadn't trained me with Amphisbaena as often as we would have liked, he wouldn't have let me walk away with them if he didn't believe me proficient _enough._ …maybe. "It found me, surrounded me, and is now trying to eat me. Care to lend a hand?" That same Prowler leapt at me again, and I angrily jammed the tip of one of the weapons into its skull.

Strife scoffed. "It looks as if you're handling it well enough." He lazily lifted a hand in farewell and turned to walk away, posture completely relaxed.

I tried not to snarl at his back, but returned my attention to my 'situation' anyway. It wasn't his obligation to help me, so I couldn't blame him for leaving. That, and this much of a demon presence still in the Forge Lands must mean an ambush of some kind. Not exactly what I'd want the White Rider getting involved in.

And it wasn't something I couldn't handle, as he said. A score or so of vicious, clawing beasts should be nothing, right? Just swing fast enough, and they can't come close.

That theory almost worked, actually. Amphisbaena was very aerodynamic in any of its forms, be it dual-headed, dual-handed, or just single-headed. I could catch five or six of them in one go, if I was lucky. But they kept up their tightening circle, moving too fast for me to catch many in one wholesale swipe, and even then the blades just grazed them.

There was a slight up-side to their increased proximity, however. I was able to see the beasts more clearly, and when I saw something resembling a Goetic seal on each of their heads, I was able to truly understand what was going on.

I couldn't afford to be careless now— I put a little bit of frenzy into my attacks, making more attempts to create a gap at the expense of accuracy.

Then, I heard a bang, and then another. Wondering if my new weapons suddenly started shooting projectiles I didn't know about, I looked from them to the creatures falling one-by one in a fairly dumb fashion.

"This is getting sickening." Or not— Strife strode forth, Redemption in one hand and Mercy in the other, pulling the triggers with a savage jerk of each arm. Suddenly, there was a path opened straight to him. He motioned to himself with the barrel of Mercy, but I'd already trekked my way over the dead bodies and started over to him.

Then the normally-unsociable Rider pushed me behind him, causing me to yelp and grab his arm so I wouldn't fall over.

The air was pierced by the sounds of his bullets until there was none but one left, on its belly and trying to crawl forward. Strife huffed sourly, stalked over to it, put a boot to its back and pinned it down. He stooped to peer at the mark on its head, before pushing straight almost roughly.

"Samael." The Rider's voice lowered menacingly, and he lowered Redemption's muzzle to the Prowler's head, hovering right over that sigil. "You should know better. Hands. Off."

The trigger was pulled, and I needed to remind myself that this was _Strife_ that came to my rescue, but even the resounding of the shot didn't make it sink in. "…? 'Hands off'?" I uttered uncomprehendingly.

With a disdainful scoff at the corpse, he holstered both of his weapons and turned to me. Of course, he completely ignored what I said. "Let's go. We can't stick around here, and we need to get you somewhere more defensible."

I sighed and followed along, glancing at the side of his head grumpily every now and then. I couldn't see his face, but he seemed to be… Brooding? I thought for a moment, carefully, before saying anything. "I never thought the White Rider would be a white knight in disguise." Goad him into letting out about it was all I could think of, to be honest. Everything was too dangerous to remain uninformed about something just because he wanted to be tight-lipped about it.

"And I never thought War's left arm would be in need of so much rescuing, once it was detached from him."

I flinched, stung— The backlash of it was clear, so I pressed my lips together and just quietly kept following him up the hill. I don't think he meant it like that, but being likened to nothing but a byproduct was… It hurt.

I wrung my hands along the handles of my weapons, and the resulting hiss was made almost in comfort, the serpentine glow filling their etchings for an ephemeral moment. Smiling, I turned my head forward again, just to nearly walk straight into Strife's folded arms. I stopped short and blinked up at him, smile falling away to be replaced by curiosity.

He exhaled. "It was just Samael trying to toy with us." He stated this frankly, the black depths of his mask unreadable. "Evidently, you had left a bigger impression than first imagined."

I stared at him, unblinking this time. "He was trying to toy with us by ripping me to pieces?" I asked bluntly, and his arms fell away from each other.

Strife angled his head forward a little, as if trying to stress something. "I don't know _what_ his exact motives are. But if he truly wanted you ripped to pieces, he would have known better than to send a handful of Prowlers. Or even a Stalker. As I said, he should have known better."

…Was that a mention of faith in _my_ abilities, or was it about knowing that he wouldn't have let Samael get away with it…? A wide smile sprang up, and I started walking again, this time ahead of him. I hummed merrily at him over my shoulder. "Is it that Samael should have known better, or _you_ should have known better? Hmm, white knight?" It was a teasing poke, a prod, letting him know that his verbal obstinacy was forgiven.

I _heard_ him scowl and begin storming after me. It was a specific sound that was more of a feeling, but I'd like to think I hear it instead.

What I _actually_ heard, though, belied the wry amusement he hid behind that armor.

"As the damsel, you should already know the answer to that."


	7. grace

**Grace**

* * *

"Keep your arms still, and roll your shoulders with the turn of your body. Don't bend your elbows so much, so your shoulders take the impact and not the smaller joints. Yours especially."

Death gave his instruction briskly and precisely, motioning with the curve of his own arm. His temporary student nodded, scanning the appendage thoroughly before imitating it with her own.

She was being very patient with the strict teaching, he was slightly astonished to notice. No matter how many times he told her to fix something, she didn't grow frustrated, didn't direct any ire his way— Only adjusted as well as she could, and responded to his sarcasm with a bit of her own.

He hoped the patience of the student wouldn't exceed that of her teacher's.

"Raise your arms, so impact is given to the trunk of your body directly. If you keep them too low or high, you're distributing the weight to your muscles instead of your frame. That is mainly why most warriors grow weary of battle before their true stamina had ever reached its peak." The Pale Rider once more corrected, crossing his arms over his chest. "If you keep your limbs within a certain axis in proportion to the rest of your body, you'll learn everything else quickly. The curve of the blades give you leave to slash in whatever direction you need, with great force if need be; But the motions of the hands holding them must be small, or others can read your movements easily."

Her eyelids fluttered a little in thought, and she turned her head towards him with an expression of enthusiasm. "Hold on— It's like wielding a staff in that aspect, right?" She asked this with barely-contained excitement.

Death thought, and then nodded. "Yes. Knowledge in any other weapon will aid you in the learning of a new one, in any regard." He replied, and was just about to continue the lesson when she started moving on her own.

The rune-forged scythes merged into one, the demon soul within rejoicing with a flash and flicker to life. One hand slid higher upon the stave, and the other lower, holding the arcing blade as if it were a bow instead. Then they slid back together, and the head of the scythe slowly swung forward and back around, a silvered pendulum.

The heel of a palm braced beneath the balancing hand, and the circular movement quickened infinitesimally. Soon, it was like a netting of glistening argent around her, but it was not to last. It slowed once more, the details of the blade once more visible, and then it was given slow, wide sweeps.

In spite of giving just a demonstrative performance, sweat had gathered on her brow and her arms trembled with the weight of the weapon. Deep, even breaths were taken to steady those wavering limbs, however, and a faintly satisfied smirk twitched her lips.

The onlooker almost jolted when she suddenly turned to him, face transforming into a cheery smile. "I'm going to get this right in a little bit, promise. So don't go easy on me, okay?" She inclined her head in regard, once more taking her weapon into the practice stance.

A smirk of his own curled his lips beneath the mask, and he nodded in approbation. "I didn't intend to." With an eerie glow of deep, violent purple he summoned his own scythes, and held them in a mock-attack position. "Are you ready?" The girl obviously didn't notice the difference.

She paled. "Uh— Don't go _that_ hard on me! That's just mean!" She sputtered, tripping over herself to placate him. "Do I need to appeal to your masculine side, here? Should I say to go easy on the girl? You know. To curry favor? I'm just letting you know, special treatment goes a _long_ way with me." A nervous grin was paired with the widened eyes, and it was too much for him.

He burst into dry, cracked laughter, relaxing his stance and content that he'd gotten the rise out of her that he was aiming for. "Not to worry, kit. I'm not much one for mistreatment of things that belong to me." In his enjoyment, perhaps he'd said too much— But the suddenly-scowling one didn't even seem to notice, eyes narrowed and lips puckered huffily.

"You're messing with me." She accused him, folding her arms crossly and dangling her weapon from a hand almost comically. "That was mean, too. Generally, when someone looks like they're going to cut me to bits, I take for granted the fact that they probably are going to."

Yet another opportunity he didn't want to waste. "You seem to be in one piece to me," He declared loftily. "So perhaps your paranoia is unwarranted more than you think?"

She'd opened her mouth with a retort hot on her tongue, but then he was denied the reaction the second time around. He may have been too greedy to fish for another, he surmised.

There was a disgruntled sound made as she closed her mouth on her potential response, before roughly tamping Amphisbaena's pommel blade into the stone floor and leaning on it. "You know, I think the saddest part of this entire situation is that you look happiest when you're picking on me. Not to mention damn confusing."

He froze completely, unused to hearing such things. Happy? Him? Certainly, there may be times where he's moderately content for the time being, but he never considered himself to fall under the grasp of as strong and simple a word as 'happy'. He didn't dislike it, however. And nor could he exactly deny it.

Thus the Pale Rider didn't, and focused on the latter part instead. "I don't understand where you find it confusing." He evaded airily. "It is as clear as day to me."

Then, he was given the pleasant surprise of a decent comeback. "I don't know about that. All the days on this world seem to be equally gloomy." She grinned.

He chuckled.

"Not as much as you think."


	8. home

**Home**

* * *

War was astounded, and perhaps even a little disbelieving at how _busy_ humans were. Always going from one place to the next, talking and interacting with their self-made world…

It was no wonder, why they would have needed a place such as Eden to grow. And that this wasn't even the Earth of his knowledge…

"War?" It was a squeak coming from behind him, as he peered out the tiny glass-paned window. He was careful when turning around, because this place was so _small_ … It suited her, however. "What are you doing here? And how did you even fit through my door?"

Of course, the first question was the only pertinent one, so it was the one he chose to entertain. "My brother calls for you." He told her, and when she stared at him blankly, he clarified, "Death. He's been intercepting missives from the fey, and wants you to deal with them." He supposed it was still too early for her to instinctively know which of his brethren he spoke of by tone alone.

"And he demoted you to messenger?" She asked in wry sympathy, folding her arms.

"I will admit that my reluctance faded when I heard of your location," He confessed, rolling a shoulder lightly to remove the stiffness from leaning over. "I haven't seen the civilization of humans outside of the Endwar." The Red Rider took a moment to consider his words. "I didn't expect them to be so… Thriving."

She hummed in understanding, and motioned him away from the window. "You probably shouldn't stay there." He was advised discreetly. "You might be safe in here, but if someone saw a heavily-armored, glowy-eyed person through my window there might be a problem." Looking around with a pursed mouth, the girl gestured him towards a piece of furniture. "The couch should be big enough for you."

He obliged by cautiously approaching it, and perching on the end of the cushions.

War was given a long look for a reason unknown to him, before she suddenly lurched forward, pealing with laughter. "Oh, what a sight you make on the sofa," She giggled, clutching her stomach. He didn't know why this entertained her so much, but he didn't mind as much as he thought he would. "But, to your earlier observation— A lot of the, hrrm, 'colonies' of humanity are this advanced. Some aren't, though. And none of them nearly enough to contend in the Endwar." With a soft puff of breath, she fell onto the cushion beside him with abandon, bouncing a little. "Of course, there are the lucky singular humans that change, form powers or something along those lines. But, as a whole, the human race doesn't have a track record of really doing _anything_ as a whole."

Her play on words wasn't lost on him, and a question had formed idly in the back of his mind. "And you've lived in many of them?" He pursued the line of questioning. "These 'colonies'."

The shrug given was difficult to decipher, either in vagueness or modesty he did not know. "I make my home wherever I am." She said instead, smiling nostalgically. "It makes me wish… The Nephilim could have seen it the same way, too."

War saw the lack of focus, the dilating pupils and slightly parted lips— He didn't let her get away with it. "They might have, had the right voice said it." The Red Rider replied gravely. "But that would mean you never would have been. So you shouldn't ponder it." He bowed his head to look her in the eye. "I do not regret the past, nor what happened. And we received you in turn for our actions back then. We were properly compensated."

No longer out of focus, those eyes widened, and her face went pink— He didn't get to see it for long, for she'd sprung from her seat like he'd lit a fire beneath her and darted to another room.

"I forgot to put the water on to boil…"

His mouth twitched at the excuse.

"I'm sure."


	9. ignorance

**Ignorance**

* * *

"Don't get into trouble while I'm busy. Understand? I don't want to be here any longer than necessary."

This was Death's unnecessarily-stern message to me once we boarded the Eternal Throne, even going so far as to point his finger at me in emphasis. I tried not to be offended, but what trouble could I get into on _this_ ghost ship? Nothing was here but dull, boring ghosts that had nothing to say but how the smell of my soul made them hungry.

Which was flattering sometimes, but didn't make for good conversation.

So, I gave him as flat a look as my face could possibly manage, and made a shoo-shoo motion with my hands. "You go find out what's going on with the souls of humanity, and I _promise_ not to accidentally burn the ship down while trying to steal one of those fancy lanterns. Okay?" I drawled blandly.

He appreciated my attitude about as much as he usually did, but took my word nonetheless and scaled the steps to the throne room.

Sticking my tongue out at his back, I then jerked in surprise when I heard an earthen, throaty chuckle off to the side. Recognizing the voice, I immediately grinned and turned around.

Ostegoth peered at me with a smile in greeting, tapping his pipe against a claw to knock the ash from it. From the goat's eyes, the curling horns and long fur to the heavily-encumbered robes he wore, there was no telling exactly _what_ he was. In the manner of creature, that is. A self-proclaimed seller of wares and goods hard to be found, he often had found the opportunity to pop up in whatever realm Death and I traveled within.

He refused to divulge _how_ he got around so quickly, but having him around was pretty convenient in spite of it.

"Look who it is," I laughed a little as I jogged over. "Can't seem to get away from the dead, huh?"

"Nor you, it seems." He replied wryly. "This realm does look to be a bit brighter with the right company, however. How fare you, with the Horsemen? Surely sharing the lives of a family of roughened warriors must be difficult."

I made a complicated face, before leaning over and cracking up softly. "Let me tell you a secret, just between me and you." I paused, to add to the false drama. "The Horsemen actually _don't_ live, eat, and breathe killing people. Shocking, right? Completely unexpected!" I lifted a hand to my mouth in the dainty spirit of gossip, and he laughed.

Then he coughed terribly, slightly ruining the reunion with the wracking sound. "You certainly don't hesitate in abolishing centuries of disparaging and hard-hearted rumor." He wheezed after the fact, blithely ignoring the frequently-occurring attack. "But you had better get your greetings out of the way while you can, or your companion will be dragging you off before you know it." His great, horned head bowed in understanding, and his smile both thanks for the concern and a reassurance.

Clamping down hard upon the urge compelling me to do something about it, I smiled my acceptance, nodded, and drifted away.

Out in the middle of the deck was a circle of ghostly soldiers, as per the norm, with one in particular tirelessly showing a decelerated version of an attack pattern— Leaping and ducking, slashing and dashing all seeming to be done in slow motion. Which may very well be easy, for one of the dead. The ones without the density of a corporeal body easily had an advantage in battle…

"Boo!" I suddenly found myself heckling loudly, a hand cupped by my mouth and the other exaggerating a thumbs-down of disapproval. The violent jerk given by the captain's semi-transparent body was very satisfying. "Who taught you how to fight, a three-year-old? Get off the stage!"

Draven turned, the glowing orbs he had in place of eyes blinking in acknowledgement of who was giving him a critique. But then he put his hands to his waist in exasperation as it sank in, and I honestly have no idea how he can go about his daily life without accidentally impaling himself. With all the various knives and swords sticking out of his body, that has got to be a painful affair.

"Who are you talkin' about, lamb? Leave the fighting to the wolves, or you'll get eaten." He jeered back at me with a shake of his head. I'd forgotten how pleasant his voice was to hear, in spite of his incredible lack of lips or tongue to speak with.

I stared pointedly at his emaciated and wiry torso as he approached me, everything withered and missing from the ribcage down. "I'm not too worried about that," I retorted airily, grinning impishly. "I'm too big to fit in your belly. What's left of it, anyway."

The fallen warrior angled his chin up in mild offense, and a skeletal, glowing finger poked me on the forehead. "Better watch that tongue of yours, pet. There are a lot of spirits missing theirs, and would not have a single reservation about taking it off of you."

I made a face in distaste, then chortled. "You'd be one of them, huh? I think you're minus half of what we would call a full complement of body parts."

He shrugged a shoulder, and his hood shifted away from his face slightly. "All lost in fair combat. The Arena's Champion made quick work of my flesh, but I made quick work of its life." What was that tone…?

He's bragging. Is he bragging? I think he's bragging.

I quirked my mouth to the side as I briefly pondered on my response. …Nah, can't let him get away with it. "What, really?" I morphed my face into an expression of doubt. "Death and I didn't have a problem with it when it was our turn. And they said it was supposed to be hard." I made sure to sound faintly disappointed.

Draven took the bait without batting an eye. Not that he had a lot of eyelid left _to_ bat with, but… "The Riders have been renowned for their vast power ever since the Council took them in. And the terror they wrought has only grown since they took their independence from it. I was but a human warrior, compared to something as awe-inspiring as the Nephilim… Or whatever it is you are." It was an unspoken question, an implication to give him the knowledge he mentioned.

I pointed to myself with a pleasant fool's smile. "Who, me? I'm nothing as grand as the Four Horsemen, or even the leader of the greatest army Earth had ever known." I gave him that tidbit at least, letting him know that I understood very well what kind of warrior he was. "Why, what do I look like?" I smiled serenely, challenging him to step into the trap I laid once more.

Draven knew it, and dared the teeth of the trap to close upon him.

"Trouble."

I felt the corners of my mouth curl up further and laughed. "All right, you win." I backed off graciously, holding my hands up and letting them fall. "So, that wins you a favor from me— Is there anything of the Chancellor's that you want vandalized while I'm here? I'm game."

His wilted face still managed to look both perturbed and amused by my words at the same time. "I think I heard the Horseman specifically tell you to stay away from danger." He reminded me, folding his knife-ridden arms over his chest.

I rapped my feet against the worn wooden planks beneath me and interlocked my fingers in front of me. "He told me to not get into trouble. I only get in trouble if I get caught. So, if I don't get caught, then no trouble, yes?" I grinned. "Oh, come on. Don't tell me you aren't jumping for joy over the idea on the inside. You hate him more than everyone else does, and that's saying a lot." I wheedled him a little bit more, shuffling over to nudge him with an elbow in an area that wouldn't leave me with a gash. "You can't rebel against him at the moment, yourself. So let me do it instead."

Then, I was surprised when he gave in, though without exactly admitting that he was. "…What did you have planned?" He asked carefully, tilting his head back appraisingly.

I tapped my chin in thought. "Well, even the dead have possessions. So, if you can't strike out at the man himself, strike out at what he holds dear. And he has to be the most avaricious person I've had the displeasure of meeting, so I think this means just about anything he owns. Or… _Everything_ he owns." The smirk that appeared had to have been criminal in proportions, and I slowly looked back over my shoulder, at the merchant standing there smoking his pipe.

He caught my gaze, and slowly pulled the pipe from his mouth, looking cautious.

At Draven's sound of question, I gave him a glance that would spell nothing but entertainment in the future.

"And we have just the one here to supply us— I mean me, with what I need."

* * *

Death seemed, to me, a little relieved once his business with the King of the Dead was concluded. I'd already said my farewells to my friends, and was waiting for him at the mouth of the hall that led below deck.

It was actually an interesting thing to see on him, seeing how he had his fists clenched in irritation just seconds before. Once he reached me, however, his voice conveyed his ire well enough. "The Third Kingdom most likely won't return until their world is once more inhabitable to them. It makes sense, seeing how they would be destroyed with the demons still living on their world. Their return would be moot." He sighed gruffly and added in a mutter, "I shouldn't have expected it to end any other way. I sacrificed my life and there's _still_ more work to do after."

I grimaced in sympathy, and gave his arm a pat. "You'll be fine," I assured him. "I'll help out, too. We'll have Earth cleared out in no time."

He rolled his eyes at me, but in the middle of doing so, those eyes got caught on something upon my person. "Hold on." He reached out with a hand, and used the metal of his gauntlet to gently scrape something from a strand of hair. Crap… "There's something… Paint? And why this color?" He showed me the semi-dried cherry-blossom-pink smear, looking pretty comical on his scary self, and I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

"Ahh. I don't know. Why in the world would that be around in a place like this?" I laughed nervously, and I saw him about to reluctantly give me the benefit of the doubt when there was suddenly an enraged roar in the background, barely sounding as if it came from a person.

Death slowly looked in the direction he came from, and then back to me, steadily. "…Try to answer that again." He advised with a sigh, and crossed his arms over his chest in preparation to scold me into next week.

I kicked at imaginary dirt and ducked my head, apprehensive before it even started. "…I decided to do Draven a little favor, since, y'know, he's miserable with his life and all…" I mumbled, wilting under the increasing pressure of his gaze. "And since the Chancellor's a common point of hatred for, well, just about everyone who meets him…" My voice got incredibly small. "I hope he likes daisies."

There was only silence for a while, growing my anxiety in spades. I almost leapt straight out of my skin when he let out a short bark of laughter, clapping a hand to his head and pushing his hair back in exasperated bemusement. "There's going to be a bounty on our heads before we know it," He complained halfheartedly. "Daisies? What do you mean by 'daisies'?"

I peeked up at him, and found courage to answer through the fact that he no longer was in admonition-mode. "I mean daisies in the way that everything that isn't nailed down in his chambers now had them painted all over them and put somewhere else." I scratched my head sheepishly. "I'm not that good at art, though, so he might take it as a fungus spore or something…"

He closed his eyes, shook his head, and then proceeded to push me ahead of him.

"I don't know what you're talking about. There's no way to obtain such pigments in a place like this, and you were too busy bothering the dead to cause any mischief." He responded nonchalantly, like he was mentioning something common like the weather. But when I sent a curious look over my shoulder, I could have _sworn_ I saw his eyes smile behind the mask.

"I never liked him." Was all he said.

I laughed.


	10. jest

**Jest**

* * *

"I feel like I need a bath."

Death snorted in amusement at this, sharing a look with his youngest brother as I walked between them, shuddering and rubbing my arms.

"Welcome to the work of the Horsemen," The Pale Rider sneered lightly. "Isn't it grand?"

I shifted out of the overt show of discomfort, but I couldn't rid myself completely of the disgust. Glancing around the partially-repaired tower of Black Stone, my mouth turned down further in a failed display of irritation. "She's just so… Creepy. How does someone act that creepy so naturally? Does she do that on purpose?" I suddenly blurted out, looking between the both of them for my answer.

War remained silent, but Death had more to say. "That isn't the reaction most give to Lilith's advances." He informed with the slightest of huffs at the end. "I am proud of War's tenacity, however."

The Red Rider was successfully provoked.

"Do not patronize me, brother." He said sharply, giving a look that could be considered _sullen_. Death looked to be satisfied with having brought that up, but I couldn't help but ask.

"Proud of his tenacity?" I repeated curiously, idly rubbing the back of my neck. Needing to look so far up to see them makes it hurt after a while…

The eldest had the air of someone whom had just gotten what he wanted, and I asked myself if War was going to hate me for being so predictable. It was the Red Rider himself, however, that elaborated. "In our last encounter with her on official business, Death made me stay behind, fearing I wouldn't have the willpower to resist." He scowled faintly.

I clapped a hand over my mouth to stop that laugh that almost came out, because that was mean on many different levels. That, and… I can understand Death's concern a little. War didn't have a dishonorable bone in his body, but he was terribly honest. When you mix honesty with that much nobility, it sometimes spells out an easy path for manipulation. Whether or not that concern was founded left me clueless, though.

I decided to do War a favor, though, and take the heat off of him.

So I directed a pointed, knowing look to Death instead.

"Oh, right. Because _he_ wouldn't have the willpower to resist. Exactly." I tutted without an ounce of belief. "What, was I just born yesterday? Death, that is the worst excuse _ever_."

Neither of them expected the turn that the conversation had taken, and we'd slowed to a complete stop on the way out of this place.

Death looked to be nothing if not flabbergasted, from the way his shoulders hung forward. "Not even in her dreams." He declared with a deadpan tone, sounding to all the world as if I'd mentioned him laying with a swine for how he reacted.

War was the one seeming a little smug, this time. "Her point is made, brother. You shouldn't have worried on my behalf." He stated, and it really showed how they got along, with how he didn't unnecessarily rub his face in it.

I held a hand up. "In spite of that," I interrupted any further attempts at quarreling. "I get why Death didn't want you, err, exposed to her? Haah, trying to say something about it without sounding suggestive is difficult…" I sighed under my breath. Then I threw myself under the bus, because I'd rather them argue with me than with each other. "I wouldn't want you going off on your own to talk to her either."

Death, oddly enough, shot me an accusatory look while War did nothing but growl lowly. "You should bite down on your words before they come to return the favor."

I stared at the both of them, baffled. What did they _think_ I said? "You aren't jumping to conclusions or misunderstanding, are you?" I asked plainly. "I wasn't underestimating either of you. I was referring back to when I said she was creepy. And generally, nobody wants to be around creepy people." I shivered again at the memory of the meeting that had just happened a few minutes ago. "She reminded me of… A snake. Not the good kind of snake, but the bad one. She even practically had the skin of one, all pebbled like that. Yeagh." I shook my head after the funny sound I made, and we started walking again.

The air was oddly fresh after we left the desolate castle, and it was under the eerie sun that Death had continued the discussion, now that there weren't any toes being trampled on.

Who would have thought that a race of warmongering world-travelers would be so sensitive?

"Hmph." The shorter of the two seemed wryly entertained. "I think my brother would have preferred the misunderstanding— The one he actually had, however."

War narrowed his eyes at him. "There are oft times when you say too much, Death." He muttered. "And there was no misunderstanding."

Hearing the tone of 'drop it' quite clearly, I hummed and turned the topic elsewhere. "So, Death. About that little visit you made…"

"I was about as revolted as you were." He admitted without missing a beat. "That she keeps referring to herself as our 'mother' was the final nail in the coffin." His voice went lofty, almost arrogantly so. "She had information I needed, nothing more." Then, the pride melted away to be replaced by thoughtfulness. "Though, it is strange to be telling these tales to someone else, I think. We never talked this much when carrying out a task, have we?" He looked to his brother.

The youngest sibling's response was dry. "We never had someone else accompany us, either."

I scrunched my face up in displeasure at them. "Are you saying I talk too much?" I demanded, glaring. They weren't intimidated by it very much. To the contrary, I believe the atmosphere shifted to that of lighthearted amusement.

"You said it, not I." Death negated calmly, looking to War in askance. "Did you?"

"Nor I."

I sulked for a few moments, grumbling. "Why does everyone pick on me…?" Given a pat on the shoulder by a big hand, I was actually surprised that it was War giving such a show of solidarity. Then I remembered that he's the youngest of four siblings, so he _would_ sympathize with my plight. So I sighed theatrically and set up an ambush. "Looks like we're left as the only ones on the same side, War. We should probably discuss the next plan of attack, then." I grinned. "I was always told that when you go after someone, go after their treasured items. Right, Death?" I smiled meaningfully. "So, I wonder what would happen if I spirited off with his precious little brother? What do you say, War? Want to elope?"

Their reactions were priceless.

War stared at me like I had an arm growing out of my eye socket; And Death's incredulity got to the point that his voice actually _cracked_. "You aren't serious." He uttered blankly.

Ignoring the latter, I looked to the former and winked, elbowing his arm. "Well?"

Then, finally, he snorted faintly and focused his attention ahead, saying only one thing.

"If he keeps it up, then we will see."

His older brother then proceeded to chuckle to himself. "And here I was worried about _Lilith._ " He shook his head. "Is your familial loyalty so easily swayed, War? I never thought you capable of it." He lifted and waved a hand dismissively. "There would be nowhere for you to hide, anyway. I would find the both of you easily."

I sputtered, a large grin appearing as I reached over and shoved him off to the side. He didn't see it coming, so instead of just standing there and letting me make a fool of myself as he braced against my weight, he actually stumbled aside a few steps, blinking. "Did you just challenge us? Did you hear that War? That sounded like a challenge, didn't it?" I met the Red Rider's gaze with a cackle.

I should have paid more attention.

Letting out a shouted expletive, I was picked up around the middle simply and tossed over a shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"Deeeaaath!" I yelped as I was given a shake for good measure. "Put me down! I was just joking around!"

The eldest ignored me, speaking to War instead. "Of course, I could just avoid all that work and prevent it to start with." He said this in a droll tone, and I could imagine a complacent smirk under that mask. "So I'll make a deal with you, War. You don't run off with the girl, and I'll let her stick around a little bit longer." A little bit longer? Really? "I'd suggest you take it, or I may have to resort to something drastic."

Just when I was asking myself how this joke was sent spiraling so completely out of control, War huffed out a breath. "I'd feel bad for her captor." He mentioned. "I will have to agree, then."

I slumped, letting out a sighing laugh. "You two are more dangerous than even I first thought. Did you know that?" I said tartly, halfhearted.

Death scoffed. "As if _we_ know what you're thinking?"

Biting my tongue on an under-handed remark about _what_ , exactly, I was thinking right now, I chose my dignity instead and just heaved a sigh.

It was War, however, that delivered the final blow for me anyway.

"This is rare, brother. Seeing you make excuses to execute the same plan as the enemy? It's a little pitiable, too."

I could only crack up as I felt Death quicken his pace, rolling my eyes.

Boys.

* * *

 **Authors Note:** Am I the only one noticing how these are getting more and more crack-like as I do them? No? Well, then my defense is the same as on Ao3: If Death can witness Wicked K flying off on his magical teleporting top hat and keep a straight face, there really isn't anything I can throw at them to make them OOC. :3


	11. kindred

**Kindred**

* * *

" _Death! I've found her!" It was a shout from Fury quite a distance away, at the other side of the moor as he checked around the bend. He was halfway there before the panic set in, her voice arcing high with its notes. "Maker, she's cold! Get over here, and quickly!"_

 _Without a second thought, the Pale Rider threw his scythe into the sky between one footstep and the next, its blade carving wide gashes of flashing violet against it._

 _Signal successfully given, Death dropped to his knees beside his sister. The Black Rider gingerly, fretfully tugged tangled clothing and hair out of the way. "Where had you found her?" Death asked immediately, pushing soaked locks away to try to catch a pulse._

 _Fury glanced between the two of them, anxiety apparent as she squeezed a small hand, obviously for no comfort other than her own. "She'd washed ashore like this. I think she'd been..."_

 _Death knew the words she wasn't saying._

 _Her body had been dumped._

 _The clammy skin gave no pulse of life beneath his fingertips, and he swore softly, looking over his shoulder. "What is_ _ **taking him—**_ _?" Just as he hissed this, a speck of orange appeared at the horizon, steadily growing larger as the beast carried his brother closer._

 _His sister, however, took no heed. "We need to remove the water from her lungs," The level-headed one of the Four seemed to have lost her rationality, unable to accept the truth of their situation. But he followed along, willing his own denial to drown the facts just as the brackish water had this one's breath._

 _His sibling propped the girl limply in her arms, and with a hand in front and in the back, he gently pressed along her diaphragm. The ribcage bowed slightly beneath his strength, and the airways were constricted…_

 _Drip, drip, plop._

 _With each pumping action, more brine and liquid slipped out from between two lips, until there was no more. And it was right in time, as well— Boots solidly bit into the soft earth as War dismounted, sweeping over swiftly and with care. "She breathes?"_

" _She does not." Fury mourned quietly, head hung and turned away._

" _Brother, can you—?" Death never finished, given pause and silence as the body was pulled from the both of them._

 _War stood with the recently-deceased, and his face became almost bitter with the same expression of angered grief Death had seen on him on only one other occasion. "…It never becomes easier." He stated solemnly, closing his eyes. "This is the second time, and it still feels like the first. We must be more cautious from now on." With only that said, he was surrounded by a whirlwind of fire and ember, body reforming, reshaping— Soon he stood not as a Rider, but a beast of Chaos, flowing with the power that coursed through him as naturally as the mire did where they stood. Yet, this was not sluggish, not the mild bleed of a flesh wound. It rushed and it poured, spilling in violent torrents growing between them._

 _Just as it spilled and poured, so did she._

 _The part of him inside of her glowed with his rage, his life and essence; And just as he did, her life didn't splash like a mortal dewdrop, but spilled and poured alike._

 _The one he held, so dwarfed in comparison, bathed and soaked in what would singe and peel any other. Moisture that had clung so stubbornly to skin, cloth and hair willingly gave up against the burn, bidding its farewell in a brief cloud of mist._

 _Then, there was a yawn, and a stretch, as if nothing more than a feline awakening from a nap._

 _Groggy eyes slowly blinked, and the sleep was rubbed away with a pair of careless hands. Another yawn came, this time carrying words. "Stupid crocodile-thing… Just wait til I— Oh. Oh." She processed her immediate situation right then, seeing the immense relief in the ones still crouched on the ground in anticipation. Then she looked to the one still supporting her, and smiled hesitantly, ruefully. "…Sorry."_

 _While it had been an apology made to a beast, it was soon a man holding her, hellish form gone like it had never existed. And it was that man whom had responded._

" _As am I."_

* * *

The fire made in the middle of camp radiated with flickering light and warmth, reaching out to the forms of the gathered Horsemen and their companion.

Death was oddly restless, switching from gazing into the flames, to glancing around their environment, and then fleetingly checking upon the sleeping breaths seen through thick blankets on the other side. He said not a word, but the sentiment borne by his youngest brother was mirrored in him, as well. The first time he'd witnessed her death was when he himself had been delivered from its clutches at the breaking of the Seventh Seal. And it had been War whom had revivified her corpse then, as well. It did not sit well with his sense of guilt…

Fury stared pensively into the fire, unmoving, meditating or otherwise none of them knew. But they'd seen how shaken this had her— This was the first time she'd experienced it, and the inability to act hit her hard.

Strife had rejoined them later into the night, claiming to have been 'taking care of something'; It was clear that none of them would be hunting come daybreak, for there was no longer anything to hunt. He understood that he would be close to useless should she be found, and occupied himself with something he could actually _do_. And the bloodshed was future catharsis for the news he'd returned to, regardless.

It was War, however, whom seemed to be outwardly affected the most. The mask of a scowl nearly turned snarl was painted across his facial features, as he sat and brooded beside the bundled lump. It was over, he knew this. And yet it did not give his turmoil cause to relent, nor his worries cause to abate.

As long as he remained, she would as well. But, should he finally fall one day, he would be spelling out both of their deaths. It was far from what he wanted, but he could not give his word that his life would stay within reach…

It was Strife that broke the silence, his tone unassuming. "Say, Death. I have an idea." All eyes turned to him at that, and he paused as if considering something. "If she should put herself in a situation like that a third time, we should just forgo the resurrection. You could use necromancy instead, and she'll be a willing slave the rest of her un-life. Then we could just tell her to stay out of trouble, and we won't have to worry."

"Oi. I heard that, you ass." Was the loud grumble slightly muffled under the blankets, and that was all it took for the tension to break.

Strife's voice was innocent. "I was just giving something to think over. And, if that should give you extra motivation to not gallivant without us, then it is an extra master served."

Now fully roused, the girl sat up, completely in disarray, and glared at him. He didn't seem too convinced by it. "Quit it with the 'master' hints. You are sick and twisted and frankly I feel you'd make a better servant than me. Footstool." None of the words had bite to them, but he was amused anyway.

"Footstool? Now that's harsh." He drawled. "Besides, that's what you have the youngest and eldest for. One for each foot. Fury and I are just here for the entertainment."

She started struggling with her blanket, trying to get up to possibly kick him in the shin or somesuch, but a large metal hand landed firmly on the blanket, keeping it tucked where it was. "Don't let him provoke you." War advised, shooting a look to Death for letting Strife run unchecked. "Go to sleep, we leave in the morning."

She narrowed her eyes at him, and set her elbows upon the back of his hand, propping her chin in both of hers. "And how am I supposed to go to bed when you're making that face?" She asked candidly, and his flinch was highly visible. "This feels like you were the one to kick the bucket and I tripped over your body or something. But while I got the case of fatality, everyone else got the trauma, so…" Her hands were wiped down her face, and his hand was released. "Can I say thank you? Since everyone worried so much. I know that's not the right thing to say, exactly, but I mean it."

Fury smiled faintly, but said nothing, still watching the flames; Strife scoffed, folded his hands behind his head and laid back on the ground; And while War angled his face away, Death shifted to get more comfortable, bringing a knee up to rest his arm on.

"I wouldn't thank us, if I were you." The Pale Rider said this as if only making a comment, but his eyes were serious. "If you begin showing us gratitude for selfish behavior, who knows what we'd try to get away with?"

War watched in curiosity as she abruptly disappeared under the blanket, pulling it over her head with a sound of discontent. He pulled it back off without thinking, and she glowered at him. "Stop playing around." He ordered flatly. "Go. To. Sleep."

She scowled her defiance, and Death started chuckling. "Perhaps necromancy would help you, in this." His tone became mild. "You wouldn't be very pretty, but at least someone would take you seriously when you make faces like that, if you were half rotten-away."

She sputtered. "Do you _hear_ him, War?" It was demanded of him, and he was slightly unsure as to what she was talking about. "Your brothers are all unscrupulous, every single one of them! How did you come from the same place as them, huh?"

"I hope I'm not the only one who notices how the seniority roles are reversed, to her." Fury murmured, wiping her mouth to hide her smile.

The White Rider beside her let out a laugh of derision. "Unscrupulous? Hah!"

"Scruples do tend to get in the way of one's goals," Death said this like an admittance. He lifted a hand negligently and gave a small wave with it. "But I did make a point, didn't I?"

Seeing that War wasn't going to back her up on this one, she folded her arms and sniffed.

"I'd still be prettier than you."

"Oh-ho-ho, ouch." Strife winced with a laugh, rolling onto his side with a shake of his head. "Looks like she made a point too, brother."

Sending a dry look to Fury, whom was idly covering her mouth again, Death shrugged a shoulder. "I'd rather look like I do than have to keep a death count for myself."

She laughed, putting her fists up with a little growl. "Come over here and say that," She challenged, grinning. "And you're a hypocrite, too. You started on your death count long before I did!"

"All right, break it up children." Strife sighed theatrically, rolling over to look at them. "Preferably before you break out the fisticuffs. She may look weak, Death, but my stomach assures you that a punch made with metaphysical strength hurts just as badly as one made with regular strength."

She pouted. "I apologized for that, didn't I?"

He stated bluntly, "Not even close."

About to retort once more, enjoying the friendly rivalry, she squawked when her shoulder was taken and she was pushed back onto the grass. War stared at her with a cocked eyebrow, the downturn of his mouth very slight. "Ignore them, and rest. It isn't safe to be so active this soon, and they will blame me if you aren't able to travel tomorrow." Once more the thick blanket was pulled up, but this time she didn't resist.

But she did grumble.

"So damn pushy…"

They couldn't help but shake their heads to each other, when soft snoring was heard just five minutes later.

* * *

 **Authors Note:** Great big thanks to DecepticonQueen for bothering to use that lil' typity-box at the bottom of the page, and anonymous? Challenge accepted. B) Wait for the next chapter.


	12. lunacy

**Lunacy**

* * *

"You shall not pass!"

I blinked as a cane was waved perilously close to my face, nearly going cross-eyed to track it. Death sighed and swatted it away, pointing a finger at the strange zombie. "How many times must I kill you?" He asked exasperatedly, spreading the hand with another sigh.

War looked surprised. "You as well, brother?" He asked, looking distastefully at the tainted human.

Wicked K— Otherwise known as Wicked Killington, as he had so graciously informed me earlier— clicked his tongue at them disapprovingly. "Kill kill kill, is that all you brutes think about? I was hurt when you hadn't stopped by sooner! Really, it felt as though my heart had been ripped right out of my chest!" He then peered down at the glowing-orange, bulging rupture in the middle of his chest. "Oh dear me. I believe it already has." He murmured to himself sadly.

I pressed my lips together, and decided to salvage the situation for whatever it was worth. Any other Wicked seen shambling around Earth was just a mindless host for the demonic energies infecting it. But this was the only one that was actually intelligent, and seemed to maintain some semblance of personality. Though, whether he was just as stark raving mad back in his mortal days was unknown to any of us…

"You'll have to forgive them." I lifted a hand dismissively, directing the creature's attention to me. Ignoring the baffled looks I was receiving from each of the Horsemen, I continued, "But they're always so busy, and you know how work seems to take over your life every now and again. These two have been doing this for centuries, you must know, so they have a bit harder a time of it than everyone else." I folded my hands in front of me neatly.

Wicked K stared for a moment, before pink bubble hearts sprang from his eyes and popped in the air. What in the hell…? "Oh, you! You must have tea with me sometime— Nay, this time! Right here, right now!" He threw his arms into the air and spun on his toes. Oh god, this is going to be traumatizing, isn't it… "Let those big ruffians go, and accompany me to tea. Yes, yes, that sounds fantastic. Oh, I do implore!" He clasped his hands and leaned forward, right into my personal space.

If he wasn't some desiccated corpse walking around with a top hat and cane, this might not have been one of the weirdest happenings in my life. But, unfortunately, this made the list easily. And he was pretty frightening, this close…

But I smiled brightly, and giggled coquettishly. And the Horsemen better love me, because being crazy had always been a little too easy… "Now now, what do you expect me to do, hmm, Mr. K?" I asked archly, shaking my head. "I can't just tuck them away in a pocket for later. They're far too big. And they have business to attend to, and it would be just _dreadful_ if we detained them, wouldn't it?" I added a winsome smile to the end, getting him to nod his head vigorously in tune with mine.

"It's like they're speaking the same language." I heard War mutter to his brother in an insultingly impressed tone. There was the brief sound of someone getting a light backhand behind me, which I tried to ignore. Why can't they ever make things easier for me?

The gentlemanly Wicked bowed dramatically, holding out a hand for me to take with a sharp tap of his cane on the ground of the cave.

I smiled wryly. "Mr. K, you haven't answered my question. May my friends pass through unhindered? I shall stay back and keep you company— My presence is far from needed on this excursion." I held my hand up, wriggling my fingers over his withered palm in a teasing dance.

The Wicked beamed. "But of course! The quicker the better! Please, gentlemen—" Taking my fingers with the dried hand, he gestured War and Death past him with the other. "Do take your time, would you? You could even choose not to come back, if you wish. Oh, how wonderful would that be! It would be never-ending teatime, then!" He sighed wistfully, unnatural eyes shut in yearning.

War gave me a hard, meaningful look, and Death led him past us with a derisive glance in the Wicked's direction.

"Oh, we will return. Have no doubt about that." It was all the austere declaration the Pale Rider needed to make, and they continued on without me.

I waved to their backs for no other reason than to keep up the ploy for this strange, unkillable zombie, and then smiled. "Shall we, then? We only have until the clock strikes twelve!" I figured that, being a former human, he would understand the nuances I had to avoid using around the others.

The animated corpse peeked open a single eye, and a crooked grin angled his mouth. "Or when the clock strikes whenever they fancy. Or whenever _we_ fancy, actually. Oh, the Nephilim are such a fearsome, respectable lot aren't they?" He sighed in great admiration, lifting my hand high and leading me through a separate tunnel, walking backwards without a single care in the world. "Death was so courteous when he severed my spinal cord, and War— Such kindness he showed, when my head toppled from my shoulders! You know. You remember, yes?"

Okay then.

"Of course." I nodded fervently, and skipped in my step. "But we can't forget your own battle prowess, can we? Mr. K, I do declare that I haven't seen a single Earthen creature to carry itself with the grace and finesse as you do." I looked at him ponderingly, and then added, "Or with such a fine hat. I've had a few in my time, but none that float or teleport."

An orange-rosy glow filled his grey, sunken cheeks and I asked myself _how_ , exactly, a Wicked could blush— But, after the bubble hearts earlier, I decided to just treat this entire scenario like it never happened, and just not question it. "Oh, such praise you give me! I feel utterly unworthy to have such words spoken about my humble self." He demurred abashedly, and then stated urbanely, "And please, just call me Killington. It's difficult to hear one's name being spoken when all of your brethren are drooling savages, don't you think?"

I giggled.

Crazy people…

* * *

"Do you think she will be all right?" War asked his brother, brows drawn together deeply as they continued deeper into the cavern. "I do not trust that… Creature."

The eldest laughed under his breath. "You have a few things to learn about women, brother mine." He replied dryly. "I believe she'll do better with the madman than by herself, as long as she can speak. As long as she talks, she should be fine." The edges of his laughter bounced softly against the dripping walls.

The Red Rider didn't seem to like being underestimated in such a way. "You believe me to be so daft in my judgment?" He growled, but his brother wasn't deceived.

"If you trusted your judgment in this case, War, you wouldn't have asked me." He pointed out calmly, before letting out a breath and clasping him on the arm consolingly. "Worry not, War. Worry not." He assured him. "Rather than being in danger, it would be ironic if we avoided a fight by leaving her behind, and yet had to fight to claim her back."

War's tone was sour, making his brother chuckle. "Your assurances leave much to be desired, brother. But for her sake, I hope you are right."

Death looked to be miffed as his youngest brother walked past him, before shaking his head in amusement and following after him.

* * *

 **Authors Note:** I did it. I can't believe... Damn you anon, you have given me plot bunnies that won't leave me alone. X3 I think I might continue this one in it's separate series. Perhaps, "A Date with Wicked K"? Hmmm. ...Dear lord, I think this may have been the crackiest one I've done yet. ._.


	13. mistake

**Mistake**

* * *

"So you're telling me you never need to brush your hair?" I asked, partly disbelieving and partly completely, utterly envious.

Death shrugged, putting a book back upon his shelf. "It doesn't tangle, so I don't exactly see the need to." He replied, as if he himself couldn't quite believe he was talking about it. I didn't blame him, because I'm nosy and generally the Horsemen didn't ponder too much on their personal lives. They just needed a little reminder that they _had_ them… That they weren't just _tools_ for the universe to use and dispose of.

Stupid universe.

I paused with my own brush, looking between it and him with a blink. "Want to try?" I asked him, curious and proffering it.

"No."

I had to admit, while I was pretty disappointed over the blunt refusal, I couldn't say I didn't expect it. It may have been because his brother was still in the room, though. So I turned to him instead, looking hopeful and internally betting that it may or may not give me the result I wanted. "What about you, War? You certainly have enough of it." I eyed the streams of shiny, pale-white hair spilling out from under his hood with the strong urge to pet. Permission first, permission first…

The Nephilim sitting next to me eyed me back inscrutably, before letting out an inaudible breath.

"Do what you want."

Okay, so it _may_ have been inappropriate to whoop loudly and nearly scare the living daylights out of the both of them, but I was excited and silently thankful that War was bad at telling me no sometimes.

I climbed onto the arm of the chair he was occupying, and waited for him to set Chaoseater aside, as he had been polishing the blade. That might have been as fruitful as me brushing his hair, since the asymmetrical blade never even got a nick in it, from all the things I've seen him do with it. Gently, I tugged his hood back, relishing in the fact that I was doing so and not getting stabbed in the process.

The crown of long hair was exposed to me for the first time ever, and while I couldn't stop the grin from splitting my face in half, I _had_ successfully restrained myself from clapping like a complete girl. It was practically an _itch_ on my fingertips, and the colorless strands before me were the only way to relieve it.

Death, with the book he had been searching for in-hand, stared at us and sighed largely. "And here cometh the day whence my feared brother, the Horseman War, was reduced to a grooming pet." He announced in a droll tone.

Sensing the one beside me tensing, I shushed, "Don't listen to him. He's just kicking himself in the ass that he was too chicken to take up the offer."

Ahh, finally— Testing the waters with a few fingers, I found his hair not majorly tangled and ready just for a brush as-is. Also ignoring the annoying little voice in my head that was agreeing with the suddenly-missing Death's sentiment about demoting War to a baby-doll, I began with a light stroke, and then peered around to look into his face. "Just make sure to tell me if I'm too rough or it hurts, okay? Even a little bit. It's not supposed to be like that at all."

He made a sound, but I couldn't tell if it was the tone of 'just get on with the indignity already' or an affirmative.

Quietly, I set to pulling the soft bristles through his hair, and it was right around the fourth or the fifth time that he'd commented. "Press harder. I can't feel it."

Wondering if his hair was thicker than I first thought, I wordlessly obeyed and made my hand a little firmer in brushing. It felt pleasant and cool to the touch, which was strange for him out of them all. He was always burning-bright action, as still as stone and running hot like blood. But, it made me think that… Even with the temper, the carefully-contained violence and the fierce lifestyle forced upon him— There are some parts of him that reflect peace, as well.

It just didn't help that getting to _witness_ any of those facets would most likely land you with the most permanent kind of peace.

I spoke up hesitantly, hoping that I wouldn't be treading on any unwanted ground. "…If you don't need to is one thing, but… Fury wasn't the only girl, was she? Even past that, didn't everyone take care of each other, like this?" I asked, letting him know in tone that I would accept it if he chose not to answer.

But not only was I given an answer, but he deigned the question worthy of an explanation as well.

"You should understand on your own, but a secluded life might leave you unknowing." He breathed lowly, and it was easy to see he was spacing out on the wall in front of him even with the lack of pupils. "We were created, not given birth to. Any bonds we had to each other were through our own choice, be it through some sense of solidarity instilled into us or just knowledge that there were none like us anywhere else. We fought for each other, killed for each other, and cared in what little ways we knew how to— But the answer to that would be no. Had the Nephilim finally found a world to claim as their own, perhaps they could have grown into a people, from a simple mass of bloodthirsty kin. But, as they were at the time of their demise, they weren't capable of this."

I hadn't realized until silence permeated the room that I'd slowed the ministrations, almost stopped altogether as I absorbed his response. I picked up the pace from then on, and didn't say anything on it. I couldn't pass judgement on people I didn't know. All I knew was that these four had gotten sick and tired of all the senseless killing. From what I've seen, however, only Death felt remorse over their actions.

From a soft heart comes uncertainty and hindsight, I suppose.

And while I couldn't speak an opinion on the deceased brethren…

"You were, though. You, Death, Fury and Strife. So that means something."

I couldn't tell what kind of atmosphere this was, but I could tell there was a certain amount of expectation in it. It took me a while, but I managed to stop my compulsive grooming of his hair long enough to look around him, to see his expression…

…and was ready to make a very strange sound at what I saw. His eyes were shut, breathing even, and my movement caused his head to loll to the side a little, bumping into my shoulder—…

Make that 'sounds', because my jaw was flapping in the wind right about the time Death returned with his book. He stopped right where he was once he saw us, and I took a moment to silently profane to myself before mouthing, _"Did he fall asleep?"_

Orange eyes looked at me, then his little brother, and then back to me. He slowly nodded, padding over on soundless feet to peer into War's face. Seeming to succeed in confirming something to himself, he straightened, looked straight at me, then turned and walked away…

His shoulders were shaking.

He was laughing at me.

Turning my non-verbal obscenities to him instead, I glared at the large door shutting behind him as he left me to my fate of being a pillow. Since there's no way in hell I'd be able to move War on my own like this. And I'd feel bad if I just woke him up like that…

Though, I _did_ briefly ponder pulling a prank on him. I'm not a saint, but I also don't possess any powers of teleportation to make it come about.

And it wasn't like this was Death or Strife. I couldn't just _pull_ a trick on War. He's, well…

The baby of the family.

Trying to imagine him as an infant and failing terribly, I almost made the mistake of letting out a giggle at the thought, chastising myself sternly. No, this isn't the time for that. Not that I really knew _what_ I was supposed to be doing at this point in time, but…

Shifting carefully so I didn't move his claimed pillow for naptime— Did Nephilim have naptime?— I got comfortable and did the one thing that I was always the best at: I waited.

* * *

Drowsiness was something War didn't get to feel too often. Mostly, he would only ever be completely exhausted or not tired at all. It wasn't as stressful as the former, and nor was it as painfully clear as the latter. Merely a simple state of mind, where he had no thoughts in particular. And it was pleasant.

It was warm, too— As he continued to remain in this semi-conscious state, however, he came to realize that it wasn't a warmth brought about from a dazed mind, but a visceral one. That, in itself, was enough to force his confusions, to grind his gears until his thoughts were in, unfortunately, proper working order. His eyelids felt like lead, and he huffed softly with the effort of getting his body to follow his mind's orders.

Something tickled his face then, making it twitch.

It scrunched up a little, and his eyelids finally obeyed him, sliding open just a little, then a little more. The vision he was graced with was disconcertingly blurry, but when it cleared up he recognized the tip to a lock of hair in front of him. That would explain it, then.

But, then there was the warmth by his cheek, and the pulse under his ear—

War stopped himself from jumping straight off the chair, and settled for sitting up from his evident resting place, rubbing the side of his face self-consciously.

He _fell asleep on her?_ Since when had he ever been foolish enough to do such a thing? And why hadn't she— He blinked and looked at her, just to see her head canted to the side, an expression of weariness still present even in the odd slumber she'd taken to. And sleeping whilst sitting up like that…

It was partially his fault, he knew. In playing along to her whims, his guard had been let down, and this is where the situation ended up.

This was tame, in all regards— He felt satisfied in knowing it wasn't his brother, to have fallen in with something like this. It could have ended up quite differently… But this, in itself, was still too much.

He readied himself to leave the room, but it turned out that the fates had one more laugh in store, just for him.

Perched on the arm of the chair as she was, now that his head wasn't leaning against her, there was the slight problem that he was now the only thing keeping her from tumbling to the floor.

Under normal circumstances— With 'normal' being that they were anywhere else and without potential company— He would sit and endure the situation. It wasn't bad, in itself.

No, the bad part would be when either of his siblings would come through here, and he knew at least one of them were bound to have a poor reaction. So, with a hint of regret, he reached up and lightly shook her by the shoulder. He flinched slightly as he did so, the size of his hand in comparison to her made that much _clearer_ in that moment…

A mumble came forth as eyes snapped open at him, and he was perturbed that she'd awoken much faster than he had. Why this bothered him, he did not know… "Huh? Oh, War. What is it?" She yawned, and the Horseman bemusedly asked himself if she found nothing to be wrong with this.

"You must get up. This isn't the best place to fall asleep." _So out in the open_ , his instincts added at the end with a hiss.

"My back agrees with you." She groaned a little bit, halfheartedly stretching. "Still, I've had worse." Another yawn came. She never does it just once, he noticed. "What about you? Did you have a good nap?"

War supposed that's what it was: A nap. He also supposed it was good, in spite of the stiffness. "Well enough." He replied. Then his brows furrowed, because picturing this conversation happening in any other instance… It was impossible.

"Good then. So."

This time he _had_ jumped, but only because she'd settled right back in her spot again. Though, this time she was leaned against his arm, head tucked snugly into his pauldron like it was _her_ pillow.

He inhaled deeply. "You heard me. You can't sleep here."

"But I don't want to move…" She muttered petulantly, and the obstinacy was obviously not going to wane any time soon.

So he tried another tactic.

"If you want to stay here and hurt yourself, that is your prerogative." He stated firmly. "But I will not save you for when Death comes to punish you. He's taken great pains to accommodate to you, and won't be happy to find his efforts in vain." That might have been a little too heavy-handed, he admitted to himself, by using her easily-manipulated sense of guilt like that. But it worked, in the end, and that was the most important.

She sighed and pulled herself off the chair, rocking on her feet and using his arm to steady herself. He obliged and lifted it, but it didn't seem to help.

Then, she flopped right over the arm of the chair and over his legs, groaning again.

"There. I moved. Good night."

With her hands folded across her belly like that, he suspected she was going to ignore any further reasoning from him, and instead favored hitting the back of his head against the wall.

"Death is going to kill me if he sees this." He declared bluntly.

She surprised him by laughing. "That has to be the most redundant sentence to have ever been spoken." She commented. Then she sighed, and closed her eyes sleepily. "Just tell him it's my fault. I wouldn't let you up or something. Not like it's untrue, right?" A light breath escaped. "You could just dump me off somewhere if you get bored or something. I won't mind."

War scoffed faintly, and shut his eyes in resignation.

"No, but I would."

* * *

"He's _still_ in there?"

Death looked over to Fury, amused beyond any words that could possibly be used to convey it, and simply nodded.

She peered around the doorway, lips pulling up in a catlike smile. "And she doesn't even understand why he's so nervous." She hummed, lightly rapping her nails against the stone.

"She's half asleep." Death reminded her quietly, also looking over her shoulder. "What are you going to do?"

The Black Rider's smile turned into only the slightest of smirks. "He broke the rules. She belongs to _all_ of us. Even if he didn't intend on it, he broke the rule that clearly spoke against monopolization."

"I'm sure all of us had at one point." The Pale Rider stated this dryly, shutting the door and folding his arms. "I didn't think the one to take it poorly would be you, though. Strife perhaps, or even maybe myself. But not you."

She smiled.

"War is the most dangerous of us all, brother. And in more ways than one."

* * *

 **Authors Note:** Well, I just went and blew it, didn't I. X3 I had everything so wonderfully vague and ambiguous, but then my hand slipped and there lies fluff of the squishiest kind. Just laying there for everyone to see. Simply shameful, isn't it? I promise, I'll make more humor, so don't stop reading just because of this. DX

/shot


	14. never

**Never**

* * *

All was silent in the hold of Death's demesnes, and, accompanied by his brother, the Nephilim himself stalked to a certain door in his fortress. It was opened so that the slightest crack of light had shown in, and a pair of eyes glowed back at him in response. Ignoring the sharp thrill of the potential _kill_ to be had, he called in simply, "Awaken. Tonight, we ride."

Those eyes lowered in acceptance, and the soft brushing of blankets being pushed aside echoed to him in flutters.

Her voice was cracked and husked, but it was weary and yearning for excitement in equal measure.

"How long has it been, this time?"

Death glanced to his brother, only to see him gazing relentlessly into the dark, searching intently but without aim. Then he looked back to the cavernous room, the one he'd set aside just for this purpose. It didn't reach the depths of the Vault, but it was tucked away safely enough that no one but they would come calling… _No one._

"Longer than the last," He evaded ambiguously. Long enough to leave an empty, sore spot among them. But it wasn't guilt he was seeking, nor War. They sought their completion again, and naught else. "Do you need help?"

More shifting was felt in the shadows, lifting of limbs unmoved for centuries, cracking bones and creaking muscles begging for more rest. But rest they were denied, as hands gripped a wooden edge, pulling a body upright and partially overhanging it. It was then, that he was answered. "…I do." She admitted, but the dusk of sleep yet fell too heavily upon once-slumbering words to show her displeasure over it. "If you don't mind?"

Death nodded, and his mouth shaped words he hadn't intended, to his frustration. "I will leave War with you, then. Come to the surface when you are armored and ready; Strife and Fury will be eager to see you again." He clasped his sibling on the shoulder as he turned away from the door, and received a nod in turn.

Then, he turned to the stone stairwell and ascended it.

* * *

War felt as if he was making too much noise in the quiet room, boots resounding too loudly against the smooth floor, the chime of his armor too harsh as he moved. And it was in this soundless chamber that his eyes adjusted to the darkness, seeking and finding the wan smile directed his way.

He didn't know why Death would have left him here instead of seeing to her himself, as his right as eldest dictated. But he was grateful, nonetheless, for the few precious moments he was allowed. He wouldn't presume to know his siblings' thoughts on the matter, but it was truly akin to having lost a limb, to him. While he'd had it replaced, the whole that he was would always call out to the other part eternally separated from it. It was powerful, but less so as he came closer, looking at her high above. And then it was _relief…_

"You've been well?" He asked, unknowing of how to begin. Perched upon the edge of the hanging casket, legs dangling amidst the chains bearing it, her smile grew stronger.

"Yes." She replied succinctly, and held her arms out, almost in childish demand.

War obliged, reaching out and lifting her from the airborne resting place. She was set upon the floor, the pads of her feet touching the stone with a slight jolt before settling down. And it was there, up-close, that he'd seen a strange analogy to the effects of time— The gown she'd laid in had long since begun its descent into decay, the most damage done around the sleeves and hem, and a little around her shoulders. And yet, through the wasting away material untouched skin was seen, unaffected and removed from the forces that caused the garment to rot.

That, too, gave him ease.

The Red Rider snapped back to attention when fingertips alighted upon his arm. Having successfully caught it, they fell away and pointed to a wooden box propped against the wall. "It's going to be a bit, until I'm in working order. Could you help me with my armor?"

He looked to the box and nodded. With a large crack of protest, he wrenched the lid open, and laid bare the items inside. Shining, gleaming metal, chainmail and soft black— He inclined his head, closing his eyes, rendering himself blind. "From where do you wish to start?"

Her tone was amused.

"The beginning, of course."

* * *

" _Where is she?"_

 _This was impatiently demanded of Death the moment he'd reached the outside, dead earth soft and yielding under his boots. He gave a negligent look to the one whom had spoken, Strife, and debriefed Fury instead, whom was looking at him expectantly. "She will be along shortly. Make sure you are ready, yourself."_

 _The Black Rider's brows dipped into a worried 'v'. "What delays her? And where is little brother?" She beseeched quietly, eyes flicking from him to where he'd just exited from._

 _Death lifted a hand and gave her a gentle pat on the cheek. "War is aiding in her preparations. You'd be a little stiff if you slept for a thousand years, too." He reassured her, and she gave a tiny smile._

 _It faltered a little, then. "…You left War to do it? Wouldn't I have been a better choice? Considering…" She trailed off doubtfully._

 _It was Strife's bark of laughter that broke the brief silence. "It's a matter of trust, sister of mine." He folded his hands in front of his mouth, setting his elbows on his knees as he sat upon the step. "Or perhaps ignorance? War hasn't been as obvious as the rest of us, so the thought of him as a man simply hasn't occurred to her." Then he shrugged. "Or it could simply be that she does not care, and Death is worrying needlessly."_

 _The Pale Rider shot a glare to him. "Know you not when to keep your mouth shut?" He snapped. "It was my 'needless' worrying that rendered her asleep instead of dead. War will not harm her, and this discussion is over."_

 _Fury approached and put a hand to his shoulder, expression one of impish sympathy. "Be calm, Death." She murmured with a ghost of a smile. "We all share your disappointment at the loss of an… Opportunity."_

 _Death asked himself if having his sister raised in a family of men was such a good idea. "Never." He retorted shortly, clearly depicting with his voice the end of the conversation. His two siblings obeyed and remained silent._

 _But it didn't stop them from having an irritatingly-knowing air about them, especially when their previous topic of discussion emerged from the crypt a few minutes later._

 _The girl blinked._

" _What's going on?"_

* * *

 **Authors Note:** Oh god, what have I done. XD I've turned the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse into a family of siblings fighting over who gets to play with the cool new toy. -w-' But you gotta feel for them, at least. I don't think that a race built for warmongering would have a very graceful method of courtship. X3

And am I the only one who hears their respective voices in my head, reading out their lines? Phew~ ~fans self~


	15. obscure

**Obscure**

* * *

"Are you sure it's wise to wander without your Horsemen protectors? There are a lot of dead here that would strip the flesh from your bones."

I smiled at Draven sweetly, showing just a little bit too much teeth. "They have yet to bother me," I chimed in reply, sitting on a step of the deck and folding my legs neatly. "You asked me to come alone, so what's the problem?"

The former military leader seemed to sigh without actually expelling breath, folding his arms and shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "I wished to speak with you alone, not to have you cavort all the way out here on your lonesome. To go forth unescorted is to go forth foolishly."

I shrugged. "So I'm a fool. Also, I'm a fool who knows that, if I brought one of them with me, there's no way we'd get them to back off for me to talk with you privately. So, you have one little fool, all on her lonesome." I mocked cheerfully, bobbing my head side to side amicably. "Besides, what are you gonna do? Stab me? They _do_ tend to worry a lot, but sometimes unnecessarily." I grinned impetuously.

In spite of his lack of lips with which to do it, his jaw still managed to convey the disapproval of a frown. "…Impertinent lass." He shook his head and sat beside me, careful to keep his blades to himself. "That's the one I wanted to talk to, though. Not the arm decoration for the Horsemen, but the one who tried like hell to punch a ghost." He sounded amused.

Of _course_ he would bring that up. "I didn't know if he was completely incorporeal or not." I grumbled. "And it was worth trying, anyway. So. What did you want to talk to me about?"

Draven hummed between his teeth, a strangely echoing sound. "A simple request, if you'll hear it." Waiting for my nod, he then clarified, "My time to act against the King may be at hand, sooner than I thought. I want you to ride with me, when that day comes."

I blinked in surprise, and I'm pretty sure my face had a look of dumb confusion. "Ride wi— Oh. Ohhh. You're going solo against the King, that's why. But, why me? Wouldn't it make more sense to plead your case with one of the Horsemen? They're stronger than I am. A lot." I stated plainly.

"I wouldn't go that far." Draven murmured in a sly tone. "Each of you hold different strengths— I may approach one of them and succeed in obtaining help, but where one goes, the others are likely to leave well enough alone. If, however, I ask the one whom they all rally behind…"

I started grinning uncontrollably, seeing his stratagem beneath it all. "You get me to go along with it, and you get all four of them without lifting a finger. Clever, Draven. But this is a war you're wanting to wage." I lifted a brow at him. "Why would I risk their lives in something that does not involve them? My own life is one thing, but since they count that as theirs as well, I have to take them into consideration."

He seemed to have expected this line of questioning, because he already had an impassioned speech ready for me, spoken on feverish whispers so as not to be heard by others. "Can you imagine what would happen, at the conclusion? Once I've rent the King's head from his body, filled my goblet with his spinal fluid— His crown will be mine. This entire realm will be _mine_ , and nobody else will be subjected to the trickery I had inflicted upon me. Those who fight and win for their souls _will_ regain them, not lay trapped in servitude to a betrayer!" My, how he must _hate_ the ruler and his sycophant— It tingled and singed my senses, but he was able to gain control of himself, nonetheless. "For you, however… For you and your Horsemen, I would name you welcome. Any domain under my power would be sanctuary for the ones who aided in putting it within my grasp. And I know that the Horsemen do not have allies jumping at them. I would be a valuable asset, as would any under my command."

Wow… I was a little impressed, to say the least. "…You want it that badly, huh." I said slowly, thoughtfully. Then I nodded. "All right. I'll lend you my blade, at the very least. I can't promise the other four will fall in line behind me, but it's at least one more than you currently have." I offered a hand to him, smiling.

Then he surprised me once more by taking it, and giving a slight, reverent bow to it. His eyes were smiling… That was the first time I saw him like that. Truly, only the prospect of obtaining his revenge was capable of making a bitter spirit sweet.

"You will not regret it." He announced intensely. "This I swear to you— Come time of my rise to power, you and yours will be richly rewarded. This will not be forgotten."

My mouth quirked off to the side wryly. "I seem to remember how eloquent and charming humans are, now." I sighed theatrically. "Woe is me! Getting talked into all manner of unsavory things… And here I thought those days were over." I patted the hand that held mine companionably. "As long as you don't change, I don't mind helping with a little coup d'etat. Just, umm. Don't kill the hired help? You'll be bearing the weight of every single soul that dies, so when you pick your Dead Lords, don't kill them right after we bring them back to you. Death was so pissed after that, and I don't think you'll like sleeping eternity away like the current King."

Draven obviously knew what I was referring to, for he shot a scathing look in the direction of the throne room. "…That will not be a problem." He declared finally, stiffly turning his attention back to me. And when is he going to let my hand go…? "I honor my debts, mark my words. I will find a sufficient way to be of use, have no doubt."

Something occurred to me just then, and I couldn't help but ask. "But, what are you going to do with the Chancellor?"

Draven scoffed. "That snake? I'll tie his tail in a knot and fill him with water. I'm sure the children wouldn't mind having another toy. This is a dreadful place, after all."

The mental image of little ghost-kids prancing and playing around the bloated corpse— Do spirits leave corpses? I never noticed— of the Chancellor made me giggle, strangely enough. So I went along with it. "Oh! Or!" I held a hand up, deciding that if he wanted to hold hands then I wouldn't stop him. "You can tie him neck-to-tailbone to a tree and make a swing-set out of him. That would be fun!"

He shook his head, and the hood to his cloak fluttered slightly. "Oh, but think of the children." He admonished, insincerity extremely evident. "I could always keep him in the torture chambers, for when there's a slow day and I get bored."

Then I held that free hand up in attendance. "I'm invited, right? I always wanted to learn how to torture a spirit— Now I can learn!" I beamed at him, and was given a dry glance in turn.

"You are a strange one." He said my favorite line of them all, leaning back against the step, still in possession of my hand. I think it's a dead-thing. They like the feel of life, I suppose. "Now, if I were flesh…"

I cocked my head. "If you were flesh…?" I prompted after a little bit.

He grinned fiercely.

"Only time will be telling that, lamb."

* * *

 **Authors Note:** Whoa. Now that was a lot more suggestion than I was intending on ending it with, eheh. ^_^' Dammit Draven!

DecepticonQueen: That was my exact problem with writing this very chapter. Why does a ghost with no mouth to speak of have such a sexy voice? ~headdesk~

And, in response to Rosa-anon: The Horsemen are all siblings according to canon, and the last Nephilim in existence. And they're all pretty close, even though Death and Strife don't get along all that well. So, to them, what belongs to one, belongs to them all. They just can't figure out which one got first dibs. =w=

I'd also like to note that logging in under a username makes it infinitely easier to respond to questions and/or complaints. I like lurking as much as the next lurker, but what am I supposed to do when I answer a question an anon asks? X3 I respectfully suggest and request that questions be sent via logged-in reviews or PMs- But I'm leaving anonymous reviewing on for those who just want to drop by with their opinions, okay? :3

Thank you very much~


	16. prejudice

**Prejudice**

* * *

It was gloomy, here in my cell. I really couldn't say _how_ I'd gotten here, but there was only one place I knew would have white marble in their dungeons. Really, it was the only place that had white-marble _everything—_ The White City.

Now, last time I checked, I hadn't done anything in particular to piss them off. That I remember. Which isn't saying much, really, but in my defense I tend to keep track of my annoyances as fond memories and thus am not likely to forget them. And I don't exactly hate these angels either, so there wouldn't be much of a reason for me to do something nasty to them.

I was given a cot, at least. Which was a lot comfier than a lot of surfaces I'd been forced to sleep on— Either the angels are far more epicurean than even I imagined, or I had been given a small mercy by someone unknown. And, instead of sitting around and worrying myself to death that the Four were off slaughtering any doves they could get their hands on, I laid down and did it. The chains didn't give me much leeway for pacing either, so it was really the lesser of two evils.

Though, while I had a comfy cot, this dungeon was still like any other in the way that it was horribly cold. I had no blanket with which to cover myself, so I merely curled up in a ball on the soft padding and tried to conserve heat that way. It didn't really _work_ , but I liked to think otherwise. Self-delusion is half the battle in trying to survive, after all.

But, in the midst of my laments over the temperature and complaints about the lack of something to cover my shivering back with, there was the sound of a lock clicking, and then sliding out of place. Half-fearful that it was another one of the opinionated guards here to bring me food, I opened my eyes to just slivers in order to keep up the pretense of sleep. Thus, I really couldn't see the blurry blob of a silhouette too well, but I was able to notice how it hesitated before approaching. No silent judgement, so air of scorn— A hand reached out tentatively, and I reacted instinctively.

I grabbed the wrist it belonged to, turned it aside to land a disarming blow in the solar plexus of whomever it was…

…And stopped mid-strike when I actually saw who it was.

" _Azrael,_ " I blurted out on a hiss, releasing his wrist with a sharp jerk of my hand. "What in the world are you _doing_ here? At this time of night, in a prisoner's cell— This isn't going to look good for you, not at all!" I rolled off the cot and tried ushering him out of the cell, but he's a lot bigger than me— Like most everyone I meet around here— and it didn't work too well.

A pair of warm hands landed on my shoulders, and the relief I felt at it had me faintly discomfited. Or I was just really, really cold and he isn't, so it felt weird.

"You are worried about that when it's for your sake that I've come." The grave-toned Angel of Death sighed in greeting. "You needn't try so hard to impress, young one. I am on your side already."

I screwed my face up, looking at him funny. "What are you sellin'?" I asked bluntly, sitting back down. "Of course I'm worried about that. Over half the population of the White City is under the assumption that you're going to randomly start an uprising or something. Which means you really shouldn't be seen with me right now, in this situation. I am the _last_ person you need to be seeing right no—"

A hand covered my mouth lightly, and I glared at him poutily over it. He never lets me finish ranting… "I care not." He declared simply, keeping his voice low. "I understand that the Law is important, perhaps even necessary. But as long as we, the constituents, enforce it… We cannot expect to be right all of the time. Now, tell me. What know you, of why you are here?"

I watched uneasily as he knelt on the floor before me, and noticed for the first time his lack of regal robes— He was clad in simple clothes, suiting to him well enough but oddly not doing him enough justice. I guess I just got too used to seeing him in all the gilded gold and filigree… "Well, I wasn't exactly given a reason _why_ they abducted me." I confessed, twining my fingers together on my lap and looking to them for courage to continue. "I got told a lot that I was bad, though— That only demons try to wield control over others. I suppose they were calling me manipulative or something. Which isn't exactly _wrong_ …" I shrugged a shoulder. "I don't have all the muscle everyone else does, so I have to get other people to do things for me. It makes sense."

Two bronzed, _warm_ hands covered both of mine, removing them from sight and causing me to blink up at him curiously. Azrael gazed at me steadily, and said, "It is not their place to judge you. The denizens of the White City do not get to decide your place, nor the demons or even the Horsemen. Outside of the conflict you were born, and outside of the conflict you shall live. And I fear to tell you that the blame may be mine, as to why you are here."

He was trying to comfort me, I realized, and mentally fumbled around for an answer worthy enough. "You mean you got me thrown in here?" My mouth bumbled along. "Is this because I didn't come and visit as much as I said? I had sent letters in apology, but I was so busy and—…" Someone, just smite me now.

"I am saying that there was a vote in the White City, as to my fate." He intervened, fingers giving a squeeze. "They had come to an agreement that my punishment would be mete out by the Rider of whom I had committed the transgression. There were many hoping for my death."

"And now they don't like me, because I stopped it." I sighed, head drooping. "Well, I can't make friends with everyone." Then I smiled a bit. "Just the ones who count. But, I want you to remember that you're one of the most important angels to existence. They couldn't just decide to throw you away like that."

The Angel of Death smiled upon me at that. "I never claimed my race to be the most rational of minds, no matter how hard they try to achieve it." He appeased me amiably. "A lot of mistakes are going to be made in the aftermath of the Betrayal, and this is one of them. You will be released by morn… One way or another."

I blanched at his meaning. "Please tell me the Horsemen didn't find out. War's already on the White City's blacklist— A second rampage is going to make him a target." My head spun with the implications of it.

Azrael raised his brows and sighed. "What am I to do with you? Here you are, at the mercy of those with questionable intentions, and all you care for is everyone else." He clicked his tongue at me in a clear, rare expression of disapproval. I don't get _that_ reaction from him often…

I blinked at him. "I'm not at the mercy of someone with questionable intentions at the moment." I stated bluntly. "You already told me I'll be out by morning, so why should I worry?" I wriggled my arms at the elbows. "Though, it is really cold in here. That worries me." Then I wriggled my hands under his. "Couldn't they have at least given me a blanket? Yeesh." I gave him a look of bemused 'what can you do?'

He studied me for a moment or two, as if debating something. It was a little funny, seeing him indecisive about something. But, he must have come to some conclusion, for he nodded and reached up to his neck. A tie was undone, and the cape draped over his shoulder slid down. As I was too busy flinching at the shock of the chilled air hitting my hands, I didn't see it when the material was whirled out to settle over my shoulders until it actually had.

I immediately tucked it around me, because it was _warm_ too. It brought a grateful smile to be born, and he returned it as he smoothed the velveteen fabric down my arms. "That will do the trick. Now that I have taken care of that worry, I will see to it that the Horsemen stay their blades. If I can end this peacefully, then it will be all the better." He let go, and then pushed to his feet with the same grace he took to the sky. "Have you need of anything, in the meantime?"

The only thing I needed right then was a law that said angels weren't allowed to be so free with their smiles— But then I remembered that they really didn't smile that frequently, and I should consider myself lucky to get to see it as often as I do. Lucky, lucky… "No, nothing really. As long as the patrols keep their tongues in check, I shouldn't have any temptation to strangle someone."

His smile went serene, and it was then that I was reminded that, while he was an angel, he could be a little shifty himself. "I have no qualms with lending you my mantle, young one. But it would be appreciated if you could wash the bloodstains out of it _before_ returning it to me."

I grinned.

"Duly noted."

* * *

 **Authors Note:** Well, as it seems I am completely and utterly out of control as to where this series of one-shots is going, I am just going to say that I regret nothing and perhaps am going to take another stroll through the game. :3


	17. quintessence

**Quintessence**

* * *

A great, earth-shattering roar soared through the air from one ghastly mouth, arcing over the heads of many gathered on the deck below. Then, one-by-one, each of the soldiers raised their flickering weapons, and lifted their voices in praise.

It was a triumphant moment for Draven, that would be carved into his memory for the rest of eternity— One arm raised with the head of the old King of the Dead in its grasp, and the other supporting his exhausted ally… The prize and trophy in equal turn. His body felt lighter than it had ever since he'd been cursed to his never-ending tenure of servitude, and the tight coil of loathing that had sustained him had all but released. He was _free_.

"Now comes a new order," He shouted over the balcony, jaw clenched tightly between each of his words, speaking slowly and powerfully. "No longer are the dead at the mercy of a ruler that cares not for his subjects, a King with no thought for his kingdom! Let word ring from the Serpent's Peak to the Psychameron, from the Tree of Death to the Sentinel's Gaze! I claim this realm as my own, and souls will be abused no more!"

It was a short speech, but one that rang true with the ones long since lost to their mortal bodies. A time of celebration would begin, but for now…

The new King looked to his consort, tucked under his arm so, and noted through the smile she put up that her face was taking up a pallor of grey. He froze, and searched for wounds. "You had been injured?" He demanded quietly, flicking a glance out to the souls still rejoicing their freedom.

She shook her head, huffing a laugh. "No, I wasn't. Anyway, how does it feel?" She glanced to the dismembered head still grasped in his fist fleetingly. "His power is yours, now."

Draven felt his chest tighten with pride and excitement, but the swell of it was still deflated at that disconcerting look… "He had grown weak over the centuries." He announced loftily, flinging the head out into the crowd without a care. "The weight is heavy, but not cumbersome. Not only weak, but he was a fool to have grown so greedy for power, when he let that which he had rot within his clutches." Deciding himself unconvinced by the nod he was given, he prodded once more, "You look unwell. Are you sure you came out unscathed?"

She chuckled. "I'm telling you, I didn't get hurt. Yeesh. But, well…" The same as her mouth twisted off to the side, his stomach twisted into a knot. Figuratively, of course. "You're the crux of this world, now. And I'm alive, so I don't think being so… Close, is good for my health." The ethereal light he had in place for eyes went wide, and she set to calming him. "When Death came for his audience with the King, he made me stay back, remember? He can stand the presence of that much, well, death. But I don't think I'm that strong." Her smile went rueful. "But you got what you wanted, right? This just means I need to keep a bit of a distance. It's no big deal."

His arm squeezed impulsively, unwilling to let the prize go— But he released her all the same, taking a step back. Some of the color returned to her, but the remains of his soul cried out in anger, demanding the pulsing, bleeding life be brought back to him.

Control was his existence now, however. Control the power, control the masses, control his realm…

There was the whisper of a withered, bitter laugh scratching against his ears.

" _There is a price to pay for all gains. Did you think you were an exception?"_

He roughly shook the voice of the errant soul away, rage once more sparking the only form of _life_ he had left within him. "Wait until I have taken full control of the situation." He folded his arms, intent on ignoring the warmth of something _living_ still giggling along his ghostly flesh. "I doubt this will be a difficult problem to overcome. Make sure to send one of the Horsemen in due time, as well. I intend on paying in full." He made this his farewell, raising a hand casually.

The girl grinned, unknowing of the hunger that the dead held to the living— Echoing in thousands through him, now that he was… "Yeah, I can imagine you have a lot of work to do, now. Just let me know when you're all situated, okay? Or if you need any help. I don't envy you the position, but I at least know enough from experience to lend a hand."

Experience— She was a leader once? He didn't get to ask, for she'd turned around and swiftly staggered down the stairs, lifting a hand over her shoulder in goodbye before disappearing into the mass of undead.

The scent of a beating heart still drifted in the air around him, and he stiffly turned his back to it, heading into the throne room.

The prize would have to wait until later— And when he ruled over the enervating quality that sapped the energy from it, he could properly… Enjoy it.

* * *

"What, now—"

Death was caught by surprise at the sudden, swirling portal opening in his library, with an armored form tumbling forth from it and straight into him. He steadied her by the shoulders, and made sure that the magic had dissipated appropriately before leaning his head down to peer into her face.

Then he noticed something, being that close, and sucked an irritated breath between his teeth. "You reek of the dead." He pointed out in greeting, trying to restrain the acidic note to his voice.

She laughed tiredly. "That's what every girl wants to hear first thing when she comes home from a long day of work." She retorted wryly, hooking her hands onto his arms heavily. He didn't focus too hard on the word 'home' she used. "Just got back, actually— The Land of the Dead has a new King, now. Fancy that, right?" There was something slightly wrong, with that… He scrutinized her once more, this time taking her head into both hands so she would stay still. The flustered expression she wore would normally amuse, but not this time.

"…You should have come straight home." He reprimanded sternly, and flinched inwardly when he realized he used that word too. Damn it all… "Standing in the presence of the King of the Dead for too long would have drawn the life right out of you. And I am in no need for any more ghouls in my household."

Her mouth pressed into a line for a moment, but when it parted to speak, it bore more color than when she first arrived. "I'm sorry." She said this before anything else, and suddenly the one floundering was him. It was a general rule of thumb that he received apologies about as often as he gave them. "Draven asked for my help, and I agreed to it. Didn't want to drag the four of you into it, since you're just getting used to a semi-peaceful existence here. I drew the line, because you're my first priority. So I helped him alone. But I'm still sorry, and won't make excuses for it."

The Pale Rider expelled a large sigh of bemused exasperation, craning his neck back to look at his ceiling for salvation. Since he obviously wasn't about to receive it, he set his hands onto her shoulders once more and gripped them firmly, giving her an emphatic look. "There is no need for you to police all the other realms. Their business is none of your own, and sticking your neck out is liable to get your head cut off." He drew a line across her throat with his finger to drive his point home.

Then, she said something he didn't expect, and leaned against him listlessly. The scent of decaying life was just that much stronger… "If I kept to my own business, though, I never would have gotten to know the Four Horsemen. And I don't like that idea at all." She muttered restlessly,

He laughed at the irony of it all, and said, "Out of all the dangers I warn you of, and all the risks I tell you not to take— Maker help the creature subjected to your tongue, for there will be no saving them then." He chuckled a little more under his breath, the same as she seemed to shrink under his hands. She was embarrassed, he assumed. Then he held her out at a length, exhaling. "I suggest you bathe before all else— I'll not have my furniture reeking of dead warriors."

She snickered at that. "And here we thought regular warriors smelled bad enough, huh?" She joked humorously, then paused. "Don't tell War I said that. Though, I would like to make a side note that the Nephilim have a track record of not stinking after battle. What's your secret? I'm terribly jealous." A toothy grin was given to him, and he compulsively messed her hair up.

"It takes more for us to work up a sweat, that's why." He felt content at the state of pouting disarray he left her in. "You'll recall that we encountered lava quite frequently in the Forge Lands, and snow in the Veil. We also try not to roll around in the entrails of our victims like animals." He added that at the end helpfully.

His sarcasm seemed to be appreciated, oddly enough. "I'm sure that helps." She replied blandly. In spite of her surprising coherence at the moment, though, she still bastioned herself against his arm as the weakness took its toll. "I think I'd like a bath, though. Because, not only did I almost _become_ dead today, I was starting to feel like it a little bit. And it was icky." She made a face of distaste.

It couldn't be helped; He snorted in amusement. "A different experience than all the times you _had_ died, in a very legitimate way. Ahh, the stray that brother of mine picked up…" Shaking his head, he continued, so as to distract her from her indignation over being called a 'stray'. "I'll have water drawn for a bath, then. And try not to hit Strife with your wet hair this time. He wouldn't stop complaining about the headache the ringing of his helmet caused."

Something seemed to dawn upon her then, and a silly smile strolled into existence. "Having a bath drawn by ghouls. Well, there's one thing off my bucket-list." At his uncomprehending look, she explained, "It's a phrase the humans use, to describe a list of things they want to do before they die. Kick the bucket. Thus, a bucket-list." Then she sighed, closing her eyes. "Think I'll stick around here a little bit more, though. Torture you with the stench a little."

He rolled his eyes. "How kind of you."

* * *

 **Authors Note:** I figured I'd stop there before my hand would decide to slip and the topic of bathing would go elsewhere.

Like me.  
I am going elsewhere.

Right now.

'Kay, bye. x.x


	18. restrictions

**Restrictions**

 **Authors Note:** Giving that special thanks to DecepticonQueen for causing this plot bunny to gnaw on my shin for the last day and a half. So now have I not only written what is possibly the least-ambiguous one-shot to date, but I have another limp to go along with it. X3 And I still can't find those candles. ;3

* * *

This house was normally very quiet, and the eerie quality of it was also of the norm. With nothing alive on the face of this world except they themselves, there was nothing to create sound. No birds, no insects, and the rare wind would be solar-drawn rather than birthed by the tide of the dried-up oceans or clouds.

But War had, admittedly, jumped almost right out of his skin when there was sound, and a lot of it. It had been shouting, voices— He recognized one as his eldest brother, and the other as their companion. A sigh weighed heavily on his chest, bidding to be released, but he retrained himself. In spite of how well they get along under normal circumstances, there were the occasional times where Death's arrogance and her own sense of pride clashed, causing sparks to singe all who drew near.

For what it was worth, he thought wryly, it didn't sound serious.

Soon, a small blur rounded the corner just as he finished affixing his gauntlet, and he began peering over his shoulder as it soon took shelter behind him.

"What are you doing?" He attempted to hide the more obvious signs of his amusement. No, he wouldn't be feeling even the slightest bit smug that she had done such a thing— Not at all.

"It's— It's that _brother_ of yours," She hissed in frustration, skirting right out of his line of view. He shifted his gaze over his other shoulder, just for her to do it again. Remarkable, how she would get the inflections correct in reference to his siblings now of all times. "The hell does he think he is, the king and ruler of the place? I get that this is his house, but there are just some things you just don't _do._ "

He could only imagine. "Such as?" And now he wouldn't have to.

There was a belated silence, and that anger was still mildly brewing in her following mumbles. "He was trying to tell me what I was and was not allowed to wear to bed. Honestly, how is _any_ of that his business?" Hold on, what was— "I mean, what does _he_ wear to bed, huh? I'd like to see _that_ —… Oh, Maker no, I didn't mean it like that. Just, uhh, just forget I even exist."

She was just about to dart back around him again when he caught her by the shoulder, confused. Failing to regain her balance against the abrupt stop, he had, just as abruptly, understood his brother's issue.

Everything they had seen her in up to date had been armored in one shape or another— From the body-armor clothing to the full set of plate and chainmail they kept for her, there was always a sense of _protection_ carried.

The Red Rider would not expect her to take to bed in her armaments outside of travel, he knew better. And yet the small, open shoulders and thin fabric seemed _wrong_.

He retracted his hand without thinking, and she cocked her head at him curiously. War decided to take it one question at a time. "What was it that had my brother so displeased?" He chose one with more ambiguity, to start.

Her expression clouded over, and her arms crossed sourly. Was she always so small? Or was it that he was so large in comparison… "A dead climate means that the air is very still, and it gets stifling in my room at night. I have to wear something light, or I'll die of heatstroke." She glared daggers at the empty, stone hallway from which she had come. " _He_ doesn't care, and wants me to be bundled up to my chin in furs. Does he _want_ me to die, or something?" She started her usual digression, and he wasn't inclined to prevent it, lost in his thoughts. "Being Death and all, is that supposed to be some form of affection? Granted, everyone I make friends with had attempted to kill me in one way or another, but he doesn't need to try so damn hard!" Her tirade ended with another scathing look shot to the innocent, unoffending hallway.

He carefully didn't laugh. "I can assure you that he has nothing but your best interests in mind," War began his explanation with a platitude, so her ire wouldn't find itself redirected at him instead. "To understand his trouble, you must first understand how he sees it. We are built to be suited to the harsh lives we lead. You are not. He knows that, and sees it all the more when you are clad like this. It would be the same with any of us, myself included." His elucidation was made brusquely, and he could see the fire burn out of her.

"…Oh." She whispered, shoulders slumping. The Horseman was half-tempted to tell her not to do that, as usual, but something stopped him. Most likely the same thing that had spurned the wrath of his brother into action; It was her look of _vulnerability…_ "I didn't think of it like that… But, what can _I_ do about it?" She asked, brows angling down slightly in self-directed frustration.

His mouth twitched. "What can you be expected to do?" He reiterated her question shortly. "It is his own insecurities that plague him. I would advise heading to bed quickly, however. He may come around for round two should you linger." A wise warning, but she didn't seem to be taken by it.

For good reason, it seems. "Oh, I know round two is waiting for me." She huffed darkly, dropping her arms only to fold them again. Restless girl, he thought. "I left him standing right outside my bedroom door like some gargoyle waiting to bite my head off when I return." This looked to trouble her…

He found himself offering ease in spite of the possible repercussions. "I head to Earth for another sweep of the demons— You are welcome to join me, if you wish."

There it was— A smile appeared, fleeting but grateful, the first he'd seen since she'd approached. "I appreciate the thought, but I need my rest. If I start tripping over corpses again because I'm too tired, Strife won't let me hear the end of it. Thank you, though." She'd taken his arm and given it a gentle squeeze, a rare gesture of fondness.

War hated the complicated feeling he was swarmed with in these instances. There was disappointment that he was going into battle one-handed, that she'd rejected the offer; But, at the same time, he was calm and easily accepting of it as well. Was he always this easy to appease? "It was just a suggestion." He demurred without thinking, and once his mind was able to suppress the fog of puzzlement, he looked to the door he himself had just exited from. "If you still wish to flee my brother, however, my room will be open. It is not often that Death is unreasonable, but in this case you may be lacking in sleep should you confront him."

She stared up at him, and suddenly pealed into laughter. "Did you just suggest that I _not_ take the brave option? Your time outside the Council's really changed you, huh?" Her smile indicated that it might not be a bad thing.

But the Red Rider oddly felt a serious answer to her flippant question needed. "All that has changed is where duty falls on my list of priorities. And taking the smart option opposed to taking the brave option should never be a difficult decision." He motioned to her meaningfully. "I would ask you to be wise more than courageous, personally."

Then she had one of those strange reactions: She pressed her lips together in a tight line, then loosened them only to sigh, covering her face with her hands for a brief moment. "I think I'll take you up on that." She said in a little too bright a tone, and seemed to realize it, for she then laughed sheepishly. The fear that he'd done something wrong vanished before it could fully form. "And thank you, again. Stay safe out there, please? Good night." His arm was given another squeeze— Gentle, soft— and she disappeared from sight, slipping past to enter the door behind him.

He only found his voice after the door had shut.

"Good night."


	19. statement

**Statement**

* * *

The first thought I had of the day was that I actually had a really nice, deep sleep.

The second was a bit of pondering as to what, exactly Death had given me to help me sleep. The sleep had come to me with all the subtlety of getting hit upside the head with a shovel, and I was slightly nervous about being administered medicines he made to match the strength of his brethren. As far as I know, I don't think they're even capable of getting _drunk_ , so it was a little worrisome…

Not that I didn't have complete and utter confidence in Death's pharmaceutical abilities, but his shifty past as an inventor of sorts made me suspicious anyway.

That, and his inherent ability to torment me without even going out of his way to do it.

But sleep was sleep was sleep, and sleep was good— I was just about to doze off again when I noticed a dull pain in my shoulder. Right on the front, in the skin by my collarbone… I peered up at the blurry scene before me, remembering that I'd taken to my slumber in one of his many over-sized pieces of furniture. So, practically swallowed up in the large lounging chair, all I could really do was turn my head and see the side-half of— I knew it— a pale night-hued body.

"Death." I mumbled, groaning under my breath. I tried shifting to look at him properly, but all I could muster was a brief tremble. "What are you…" I narrowed my already-squinty eyes at him, the 'dull' part of the pain becoming less so the more I awoke. "Are you _chewing_ on me?"

Death actually snorted at that. "Good morning." He greeted me, sounding particularly distracted. "And no, I am not _chewing_ on you. War might, however. You should ask him."

Why does he always tease me when I'm half-asleep? I complained to myself. He never says this kind of thing when I'm actually coherent enough to make a witty comeback… "Right. The mask gets in the way, I forgot." I grumbled, huffing. "The fact that you never take the damn thing off…"

"Stop moving." He ordered, almost cutting me off. "And I already have taken it off in front of you, if your memory serves its purpose."

Ouch. Taking a crack at my attention span. That was low. "Oh yes," I attempted to drill holes into his disfigured ribcage with my eyes, drawling. "How could I forget that wonderfully mysterious visage of yours, especially when you were facing in the opposite direction at the time and promptly committed suicide after the fact?" There, take that!

I could hear the wry expression he must have had, in his voice. "Give me a reason to take it off again, and if it's good enough, perhaps I will." He responded ambiguously, pointedly not giving a direct reaction to my words. Ass.

I didn't have enough presence of mind to put the surly swirl of thoughts into the vernacular, so it was silent for a bit, companionable… But I couldn't stop myself. "…ow." I hissed into my sigh, face scrunching up. "What are you _doing_ , though? It sure _feels_ like you're chewing on me."

"I told you I'm not." He reminded, as someone would to their elderly relative that had to hear something three times before committing it to memory. But then he paused, and that instantaneously caused my suspicions to combust into a giant, roiling fireball of accusations in my head. "That would be the needle, technically. And I'm not doing anything, because—" He leaned back, into my periphery. "—I am now done."

There was the clinking of something as if done on a metal tray, then something thick and sticky was dabbed over the offending area, bringing a significant level of soothing along with it.

My brain _should_ have processed the information and printed out a little piece of paper that explained what was going on, but there was an ink jam and—

Ink.

I smell ink.

" _Death._ " My voice jumped an entire octave and a half, and suddenly I was very much _not_ sleepy anymore. "What did you _do?_ "

The note of panic ringing in my voice must have gotten to him, because he turned his attention straight to me, crouched to look into my face. And his eyes were as cryptic as usual… "Nothing so drastic as to worry over." He replied, attempting to calm me down. "But while a thought of mischief in the beginning, it turned out to be very appropriate. Poetic, even."

I tried angling my head to see what was going on with my shoulder, but I am in no way possessing of a neck that could turn enough. But I caught a glimpse of black…

It all came together, and my explosive reaction burnt itself out, with how bright it got. "…You tattooed me?" I asked, unable to even tell what tone of voice I was using. "Without asking?"

The Pale Rider folded his arms, very relaxed, and adjusted so he was sitting on his heels. "…Well, I was expecting a little bit more screaming on your part," He admitted shamelessly. "But I'll take this opportunity to explain." His elbows were then braced on his knees, and I cursed his powerful frame for making that position look so easy. It wasn't, I knew. "Strife had noticed you shivering earlier, and took it upon himself to find something to cover you with." He motioned to the ashen blanket I hadn't been aware of being tucked over me. "It was a comment that Fury made, however, that started it all. She said you looked defenseless when you slept, and that bothered us more than we were willing to admit."

I stared. "So you gave me a _fu—_ "

"Listen." He interrupted carelessly, unheeding of the glare I was sending him. "There isn't anything we can do about the way you naturally look, but there was something else we could do. Strife suggested a gory depiction of someone being disemboweled upon your forehead, but even I thought that was too far. Largely effective, but inelegant."

I got the erroneous mental image of Strife stooped over my slumbering self with a Sharpie in-hand, and fell into a brief fit of reluctant giggles. "By the Creator, you four…" I sighed, and then blinked over to him. "Wait, three? I can't imagine War will like this." I made a grimace and once more made a futile attempt at looking upon my new ink. Was I supposed to be angrier about this? Probably. But the amount of insouciance I had over the matter just made me shrug. And then wince, because ow.

Death made a sound of exertion as he pushed himself to his feet, stretching a little in the meantime. "At first, he was completely against it." He lifted a hand dismissively. My eyes strayed to the strange marking carved into the flesh of his shoulder, then thinking of the one War bore upon his face. But there's meaning for it…?

"At first?" I stared at him dubiously. "I can't imagine a single argument that would have convinced him that maiming me in my sleep was a good idea."

"That doesn't mean there _isn't_ one." He countered blandly. "That just means you can't imagine it. Regardless, once I informed War of my intentions, he deemed it fitting as well."

Both of my eyebrows shot up at that. "Holy cow. What did you do, write 'property of War' or what?" I gripped the arms of the chair as hard as I could, and made an effort to stand. I was surprised, though, when he aided me by giving my back a good push with a hand. Sure, I almost stumbled forward and onto the floor with my face, but he tried.

"Nothing nearly so monopolizing." He assured me, seeming to be just _chipper_ that he got away with this without feeling my wrath. Just wait til I see what it is, just wait… "As I said, it's appropriate. And perhaps even helpful to you, if you adhere to it."

I watched him shrewdly, and then asked carefully, "…what does it say, then?"

Death raised only one finger, tracing the shape of that which his needle had etched into me. "I doubt it's in a language you'll understand." He evaded, but then caused a ripple in the air with that very hand. "But you deserve to see your own mark, regardless." That ripple turned into a mirror-like effect floating in the air, like the surface of a puddle.

I scrutinized the flat black, unadorned symbol set into my reddened, slickened skin. He was right in the fact that I had absolutely no idea as to what it was or what it meant, but… It was aesthetically pleasing at the very least, with the slightly-curved lines and the sharp edges.

I sighed, and gave in. "It means something, though. Doesn't it?" I looked to him unflinchingly, fully expecting a satisfying answer. If I was going to be carrying this throughout the rest of my life, I'd better very well know that it wasn't the Nephilim sign for 'restroom'.

He didn't seem begrudging with the knowledge at all, in spite of my anxiety. Once more he went with that finger, and short, jagged strokes were made against his makeshift reflective device. These letters were Latin of origin, as were the words, and I was suddenly struck with how enormously funny and, yes, appropriate it was.

" _Noli me tangere,_ " I laughed, beaming up at him. He seemed impressed at my knowing of this, at least. To extend it, I then revised a bit of verse for him. "Touch me not, to the Horsemen I belong; and wild to hold, though I seem… Defenseless." I quirked a humorous smile at him, and I had a feeling he was doing the same. "Figures you'd be the one to throw Earthen historical references at me. I have to agree though. It's very appropriate." I hummed at the end, cracking up.

This looked to be completely out of the range of reactions the Pale Rider was expecting from me, because I may have just provoked an _actual_ sincere response from him. "War was fond of riding the expanse of Earth, in the times before its Tree of Life had been immolated." He explained, the rough quality to his voice going a little less so in nostalgia. "I was oft in attendance to get him out of one trouble or another, so I had learned quite a bit about the pre-Medieval humans." Wow, he even dropped a chronology-related term. Is he trying to show off? "It's pleasant, though, to know that you don't think poorly of it. I take pride in my work." Again he outlined the fruit of his labor, this time with his eyes.

When did I become such a pushover? I sighed dramatically. "I thought you were the crazy scientist of the family, but you're the artsy one too?" I complained with no sincerity whatsoever. "You aren't leaving many roles for the other three. So far all I have left is that Fury's the nice one, War's the violent one, and Strife's the grumpy one. I think you're cheating."

"I think you forgot 'handsome' in there." He remarked sardonically, and did he _really_ just say that?

Resisting the urge to completely collapse in an uproar of laughter, I half-heartedly schooled my expression into one of curiosity. "Wait, for which one?" Then I grinned, because I _live_ for those kinds of pointed looks. "Oh, you mean you? Well, as of yet all I've seen is this mask in the place of where your face is supposed to be, so I feel I'm not qualified to make that assumption." I finished that sentence on a catty note, cackling. "Then again, the same goes for Strife. At least I can see what color your eyes are, and that they kinda look like you've never slept a day in your life." Ahh, the sweet sound of non-verbal disapproval. "Fury's beyond beautiful, though, and War has that whole rugged thing going for hi— Oh, sorry. Are you jealous?" And no, I didn't even try to hide the grin.

Death put his hands to his waist and made a show of shooting me down. "Not even in your dreams." He pronounced each syllable slowly, stance one of proud dismissal.

I didn't buy it at all. "Now _that_ would be an interesting dream to have…" I pretended to zone out for a moment, wide smile going a little impish before returning to reality. "But no, sadly I have not had any dreams concerning you and jealousy. You, a kitty and a bowl of milk, yes, but no jealousy." Okay, I was lying, but he didn't need to know that. "All that role-deciding aside, though… Thank you. I like it." I bobbed my head, and sensed his uncertainty before he voiced it.

"In spite of the fact that I did it without your say?" He seemed disbelieving, not quite incredulous but not as mild as a doubt. A pair of arms fell to his sides, baffled. "You have to be the most infuriatingly confusing thing to have ever crossed my path." He uttered relentlessly, but I could only chuckle.

"So that's my role, huh? I'm the infuriating one. Perfect."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Wow. I think that counts as legitimate flirting. It does, right? Right. Though, I'm pretty sure Death wouldn't think so. =w=


	20. testing

**Testing**

* * *

Contrary to popular belief and possible misunderstandings due to his name, Death was very much alive. There were a few times, however, when he believed that might change. He didn't believe himself infallible, far from it. But there were just those few things that made it a close call.

This most recent occurrence didn't come from a blast of fire or a poisoned blade cutting just a little too close, in spite of it all.

No, this time was going to be from a heart attack, because of the sheer _lunacy—_

"Who's a good boy? You're a good boy, yes you aaare~"

Right in front of him, just a few meters from his doorstep, was a great draconic being at _least_ half the size of his entire domicile… And there it laid on its side, giving the girl— So _tiny_ in comparison— access to rub its belly.

The spines of the fringe lining its head fluttered pleasedly, bone-tips rattling softly against earthen-green scales. A whuffling breath caused a great amount of dirt to rise into the air, and one heavily-muscled leg stretched out languidly, claws idly digging into the ground.

Death wondered if he simply ate something strange today, or perhaps fell asleep in the armory again.

But the smile sent his way when the one lavishing the beast in affection looked over was entirely too real, and frankly he would be utterly mortified if such a thing would appear in his dreams.

"What in all of creation is _that?_ " He demanded the moment he was able to gather his wits about him, and his tone was a bit more emphatic than he would have liked. She frowned at him, and folded her arms not unlike the rest of them did— The _dragon_ of all things rolled back onto its belly the moment the treatment stopped, turning its snout in her direction to see the reason why.

"You know what _he_ is," She sniffed pointedly, patting the rough scales as if she were patting laundry hung out to dry. "We met him about three days ago on the outskirts of Hell, remember?" Soon her fingers reached out to scratch its nose, and fiendish yellow eyes lidded in contentment.

The Pale Rider didn't know whether to be amazed or upset. Neither of which he was inclined to inform her of, of course. "Oh yes, I remember now," He deadpanned. "This was the _thing_ that tried burning the both of us to a crisp, before promptly attempting to tear us to shreds with its teeth."

She glared at him the moment he'd started speaking, and the animal eyed him warily, possibly sensing her displeasure. " _He_ is not a _thing_ ," she snapped waspishly, face clouding over abruptly. Then she turned her nose up at him, to his astonishment, and continued doting upon the dragon. "And we've gotten past that point in our relationship, isn't that right sweetie?" She took the beast's head into her hands and smiled. The cursed thing even _garbled_ at her, seeming to be intelligent enough to agree but not so high in the evolution of his species that he could verbally respond.

At least it couldn't talk, Death sighed to himself.

"Get rid of it," He ordered in resignation, holding his head in a hand to fend off the oncoming headache. "You _do_ know how ridiculous keeping such a thing here is, don't you?"

Oh, the aggression was palpable— With her feet planted firmly, chin angled to the side slightly, and shoulders set back, Death _knew_ he shouldn't have let her spend so much time around Fury. "It isn't ridiculous at all, actually." She spoke coolly, then sent him for a loop when the anger abruptly melted away, and was replaced with a sullen pout. "It's your fault, anyway."

What in the… He resisted the urge to throttle her. "My fault in _what way?"_ He drawled in exasperation, hanging his head forward.

Once more spooking him, she stalked forward and poked him in the chest, pout turning into a frown. "Because you didn't finish him off, that's why!" She barked, jabbing him thrice more before narrowing her eyes up at him. "You wounded the poor thing and left him to die out there the slow way!"

He could have laughed, but then that would have been followed by some frustrated, choked growling, so he kept that part to himself. He _did_ hold his clenched hands up to show his ire, however. " _You_ were the one who didn't want me to kill it!"

"Him!"

"That's not—…" He cut himself off with a large inhale, attempting to remain calm and ignore the indignity that _he lowered himself for this argument to happen._ "That is not of import, girl." The Pale Rider spoke evenly, and praised himself for his composure in the face of such _frustration._ "I entertained your request, and we were not going to get out of there alive had I not incapacitated it. Furthermore, you cannot keep a _dragon_ as a _pet_. It might be a useful-seeming, if not fanciful idea, but you must be logical here." He gained confidence, seeing her deflate bit-by-bit. "How would you feed it? Care for it? And where would it roam— This world is inhospitable for all but we merry few, let alone a creature that needs hundreds of pounds of meat as a daily meal."

She scuffed her boot into the dirt, and mumbled weakly, "They eat minerals as an alternative, too… Gems and the like."

It was as if the dragon was cheering her on or somesuch; its head slithered along the ground to her side, scales from its serpentine neck brushing together loudly as the fringed cranium was pointedly placed between them. Was it _jealous?_ Again, the eldest sibling couldn't decipher if it was awe or despair growing within him. Or perhaps both?

But he wouldn't let her flimsy defense hold, and punched a hole right through it. "Minerals which it would not be able to find here." He replied smoothly. "I wouldn't expect you to know this, but the same reason this world is _dead_ is the same reason why crops will not grow in the soil. The metals and such are tainted, so unless you fancy your pet to have a few extra legs in the wrong places, it still can't stay."

A scaly ear twitched as she brushed her fingers along it, voice extremely small as reptilian eyes remained locked on her. "…I think he's right, babycakes." She muttered ruefully, and the creature _whined_ at her, the sound warbling enough, evidently, to send her into an extremely sad state. "Oh, I know, snugglebun. I know. I'm going to miss you too, but I don't want you to start glowing. That would make it hard to hunt, wouldn't it?" She shushed and baby-talked to it, leaving the Nephilim onlooker mystified as the thing's eyes started growing moist. Then hers did, as well.

That was _underhanded._

Death took the moment in which he was ignored to strangle the overwhelming sense of self-pity warring with guilt. Was this why War rarely denied her? Then again, she would never go to War with something as _ludicrous_ as a _pet dragon…_ He didn't even want to think about the collateral damage that could be wrought with having such a large, fire-breathing lizard as a companion.

Not going to happen, he decided resolutely.

She sighed then, and then turned her gaze back to him… Any success he had with his previous endeavor was quashed ruthlessly when she said, "…are you sure? There's no possible way?" It was a soft tone, beseeching, and for not the first time in his life he wished the ground would swallow him up for having such a _weakness_ to his kin and kine.

Even the dragon looked to him with an expression one might call asking… If the jagged, sharp fangs in its maw didn't completely and utterly ruin the picture it tried to make.

He must remain strong, he reminded himself sternly. "If there was, I would have told you." He intoned firmly, and once more his guilt began berating him for causing her to wilt under the weight of his words. He thanked whatever genes were passed through his family that _Fury_ was never this much of a troublemaker.

She sighed once more, but this time it was one of finality. Giving the nearest ear one more tippy-toe scratch, she twisted her mouth off to the side and peered into a yellow eye. "You heard him. I'll still drop by to see you every now and then, though. I promise." The fearsome beast garbled in its throat, and she nodded. Then she lectured it with all the patience of a loving mother when sending her child out into the world. "Now, make sure to keep yourself fed, and don't slack, okay? Or the minerals— They make your scales strong. I don't want to see them like they were when we first met." Death _did_ notice that the natural armor was healthier, but that was because he thought he might have to cut through it once more. "And no more sinew between the teeth, got it? You can get sick if it sits there and starts rotting or something. And don't pick fights with anything bigger than you. If I return to find your corpse, I will be very, very unhappy. Understand, huggleboo? No dying."

Just as Death was questioning the necessity of all the demeaning pet-names, the beast sinuously lifted its head high, peering into the sky as if to judge the weather. Then, leaning down, it gave her a surprisingly dry, lazy lick to the side of her face.

With a snap of opening wings, it actually _dismissed_ him with a huff, flaring the thin membranes and launching into the air. A wide circle of chaotic, zapping energy opened somewhere above, and the creature entered it, only to disappear with a cracking sizzle.

…It was capable of opening its own portal? He asked himself, dazed and questioning his decision on driving it away. "That… Was not a normal dragon." He finally found something to say, something to break the silence and hopefully relieve the inanity of how he felt bad.

For once, though, she made it easier on him and giggled, approaching a little more and shaking her head. "Of course he wasn't, silly." She rolled her eyes wryly. "If he was a normal dragon, I wouldn't have been able to even go near him while he was injured." Then, she pressed her lips together in a sheepish smile. "And thanks for not killing him outright. I was afraid the scythes were going to come out the moment you laid eyes on him."

"They almost did." He admitted in bland relief, brushing at his shoulder with a hand as it itched slightly. "If you wanted a pet, you should have just said as much. But something as… Grandiose as that would have been severely impractical." He paused. "As most grand things are." He then added with a cant of his head.

His companion surprised him, though, by looking at him closely, studying him. Her next observation proved to him that she decided to be clever only during the worst of times. "You don't sound too enthusiastic about that." She noted dubiously, and her scrutiny changed into suspicion, and then dawning realization… He braced himself. "Hold on. I think I get it." She said slowly, the grin spreading on her face with each word. "People want pets when they're lonely, and if I'm lonely, you'd think that… You're inadequate? Oh, Death. I didn't know you were prone to questioning your self-worth." She started cackling.

The Pale Rider watched her through hooded eyes, and took an insultingly mild tone in response. "Think what you will. I was just considering that Terror would become possessive, should an animal as impressive as that one turn your attention from him."

She blinked the amusement away. "…Well, damn. I didn't think about that." Then an easy, _smug_ smile appeared. "Not unlike my Horsemen caretakers, though. Wouldn't you say?" She crooned sweetly, eyes twinkling with mischief.

He chuckled, because he supposed she could be clever in fitting times, as well. "With emphasis on the 'caretaker' part." He retorted. "You are in need of a keeper as much as any pet would, so it would be unnecessary for you to own one, yourself."

Her arms crossed over her chest in high dudgeon, but then they fell and she laughed. "Did you just imply that I'm a pet for the Horsemen, now? Did I just get a demotion?" Smiling eyes were creased with the force of her laughter, and Death found himself secretly thankful that she did not begrudge him his decision over the matter.

"You should see yourself when you are with my brother." He remarked candidly. "You become like a pup wagging her tail and hoping for a treat to be thrown her way. Or perhaps a pat on the head and a 'good girl'." He smirked beneath his mask.

Her face went completely red, to his satisfaction, and she began ineffectually hitting him in the stomach. "Shut up." She uttered, cheeks flushed brilliantly and eyes glaring at him in the way that usually worked to the opposite effect. "I think you're just jealous that I stand up to you and don't simper at _you_."

She gave him an opening, and he'd be _loathe_ not to take it. "You admit it so bravely, it's admirable." He mentioned calmly, watching as her eyes widened and her hand hit her forehead in woe. "I do believe I'm obliged to inform you that, being the eldest of the four of us, I am generally the one to be respected."

"Not to toot your own horn or anything." She grumbled, but he ignored it.

"In spite of that," The Pale Rider continued blithely, "You yet behave around the youngest with reverence, and the eldest with impunity. Needless to say, that _is_ backward." Death thought that she would have countered as she had before, but he was— yet again— surprised to see that she took his words with care and weighed them.

"Well…" She scratched the back of her head, looking somewhere over his shoulder in thought. "You're… Big brother. You know?" She shrugged. "That's the vibe you give off. As if, no matter how much I torment you and annoy any sense of peace away from you, you'll still look out for everyone anyway. My… Impertinence is probably just me reacting to that." A nod was given to her own words, and she went on, "With War, you just… You don't _want_ to disrespect him. It was the same when we first, err, crashed into each other; I didn't _want_ to be mean to the big guy. I don't know why everyone _else_ in the universe feels the need to, but I don't think I could act any other way if I tried." Then she turned her gaze back to him, oddly understanding. "Why? Does that bother you?"

He might have said 'clever' earlier, but he didn't believe he had a word in his vocabulary to express when this happens. "Am I bothered by it? That's what you're asking?" He reiterated in disbelief. Then he made himself feel better as he always did, and set to ruffling her hair into complete disarray. "You ask if I am troubled by my brother being treated well, and someone exhibiting their leniency with me? The things you question often have me bewildered, to say the least."

Her face scrunched up and she made a sound in discontent as she swatted his hand away. "Do you know how much I have to brush my hair on a daily basis?" She demanded, digressing entirely. "Every time you do this, you—…" With a soft exhale, she got back on track and looked up at him with a crooked, wry half-smile. "The theme of this story is that people are dumb and I like to believe I'm not. That is why I mother-bear over War, become little sister with Fury, torment Strife like it's my day job and poke fun at you 'cause sorry, but your pride is an easy target. But this is what I _try_ to do, as well." She started ticking off her fingers. "I am mother-bear for War, but I absolutely will not be overbearing; I can be something small for Fury to look after, but I won't hesitate to bare my teeth for her; _I_ am the only one allowed to make Strife's life the fun, loveable sort of hell; And I may take cracks at your pride, but never will I compromise it." Then she laughed. "Though, just remember you have an ally that flies and breathes fire now. All for a few belly-rubs." Her thumbs went up in a gesture of approval.

The tension seeped out of him, like water sluicing off his skin. It was a thought… "You say that as if…" He murmured slowly, eyes serious in contemplation. "…you took to the beast on purpose?"

Shy, unsuspecting— Her cheek was given a pass with a small knuckle, an attempt to hide her face. "W-Well," She laughed anxiously. "I really _did_ want to help him, and if having a huge pile of scales and muscle to put toward our cause is a side effect…" She shrugged.

He sighed greatly then, and held his face in a hand for a moment. "Would you _stop_ trying to make friends with the whole universe?" He demanded in exasperation, but even he had to admit that his words held no weight at all. "Come time for the actual Endwar, it's going to be difficult for everyone to go to battle if they're already under one battle standard."

His arm was punched lightly, but it seemed to be in appreciation if little else. "Oh, you know me." She had decided that a jest was appropriate for a response. "Can't go a day without going to bake a cake for our demon neighbors." She paused. "Wait a second. Does Vulgrim like cake? Has he ever had cake? I know I heard the Watcher mention something about cookies once, but that may have been a metaphor and I was focusing on not ripping his throat out at the time." She tapped her chin in faux consideration. "I like to think I'm not a blood-thirsty person, but _my_ how the world narrows down…"

Death scoffed. "You like to think a lot of things," He remarked sarcastically. "And _I_ don't think you should offer the demon anything. You already get enough unwanted attention, _without_ vying for it."

"See?" She was abruptly grinning, and scooted to his side to nudge him with an elbow. "Big brother." She paused, and then added slyly, "Big brother with extremely questionable motives. And a large dislike for shirts." The girl blinked. "You know, I've been meaning to ask you about that. Why do you insist on going without torso cover? I know you focus more on agility than taking hits, but bare skin is a huge risk to be taking."

Oh, the Pale Rider liked where this was going. "Why, is there a problem with it?" He asked mildly, as if offended. She took the bait.

"What? No." She said bluntly, and didn't even seem to understand the implications until a good few seconds later. Then a flush appeared, and she hit him again. It hurt, this time. "Ass. Are you fishing for compliments? Want me to say I enjoy the view? I _did_ tell you about how weird that thing with your waist is, right?" Once more, she shrugged. "Then again, it made it pretty easy to ride on your back. So I suppose it has its uses."

He didn't like where it went anymore. "'Uses'?" He asked simply.

Her eyes bulged, and he knew he rectified the situation to his satisfaction when she held her hands up in caution. "Whoa there, rider. That's, uhh. That's a direction that my brain probably made up on its own and I am deeply sorry for it." She verbally stumbled along, and he carefully held back his laughter. "You have a wonderful, lovely figure and I never should have commented negatively on i— Oh I think I hear War calling me."

Then she disappeared into the building behind him, and he finally allowed himself a small chuckle.

He could gloss over the fact that his brother was absent at the moment, and rest assured in the idea that his choice of apparel was his alone. All for good reason, of course.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Annnnd back to crack. X3 This was an idea from dragonsofthe8elements, which I have just realized right at the second of typing this that it's highly coincidental. =w= And woooow did that ending spiral out of control. But eh. :D


	21. unrelenting

**Unrelenting**

* * *

The campsite was oddly silent for this time of the night, but this was not unwelcome to the Horseman War— Having his intuition remind him to be cautious, especially on this night, caused him to take the first watch of the evening.

There was once a time when he would have traveled from day to night and back again— Rain, sleet or sunshine would not harry him from his objective, even if simple _travel_ were his only goal. But, at the expense of efficacy, his experience was knitted with the fulfillment of a partner at his side.

So, he now took his vigil over the prone form of a blanketed girl, occasionally poking at a fire with a stick. It wasn't as if he minded; It was one thing if he was on a mission of import, and he would feel mildly impatient with the slow pace of travel. But he refused to begrudge her the things that kept her safe and well, and the basis of their journey was nothing more than his mundane restlessness. A restlessness she had accommodated to, he yet again reminded himself.

She had been astonished almost to the point of insult, when he'd asked of her presence for the trip. Then again, he knew he only ever gave her the option of joining, every other time; This time, he had unwittingly given her a taste of his wishes, which had turned that speechlessness into a delight he hadn't expected any more than the first reaction.

Inhale, exhale— He heard her breathing, the heartbeat, then those of his own. The crackling sputter of the fire as it flared briefly in the breeze. A bird ruffling its feathers in its sleep, head tucked under a wing. A cry of distress from a mouse, clenching of talons, and then nothing.

All of this he heard, and he took note of. His sight could only serve him in the area where he himself resided, but his other senses could be extended much farther. He could hear more, feel more, _sense_ more even in the darkness such as this, even through the undying clamor of wildlife.

Then, an anomalous sound struck his eardrums, and he stiffened for a fraction of a second before he understood it was merely the shifting of his companion. He frowned.

"Go back to sleep." He rumbled quietly, resting an elbow on his knee as he drew it up.

A muffled complaint wafted up at him from across the fire. "I wish I could, but I can't." There was more stirring under the voluminous cloth, before a pair of eyes peeked over the edge. "I could take watch from here. You can get some sleep, then."

The urge to scoff was strong, but he refrained. "That is not needed." He denied firmly, feeling a faint wave of heat roll over his face from yet another breeze, meeting that gaze across the flames. "You must try. It is not as if you hadn't exerted yourself today. Take your rest while you can." He was met with nothing but a sigh and silence, so he took that as acceptance.

War was curious, however— Was this how Death felt, when wrangling his various younger siblings into obedience? Did he do so because of the innate need to see them kept? As youngest of the brood, he hadn't thought of it at all. It had never occurred to him that the weight of responsibility became heavy with those he added to it willingly, and it strained when he was found wanting.

Another disturbance broke him from his musings, and he let out an irritated breath without thinking. "What is it?"

A guilty air followed. "…I just can't fall asleep." Suddenly, she let out a breath the same as he and sat up, hair sticking in all directions and surly expression comical.

If the Red Rider had been irked by the issue, it was less so now. "Is the ground too firm?" He prodded promptly, attempting to find the problem. She shook her head. "Are you too chilled, or too close to the fire?" He continued without pause, and again she shook her head. Once the trivial matters had been counted out, his face clouded over briefly. "Are you hurting somewhere?"

A drowsy, rueful smile was sent his way. "Of course not. It's just… My body is tired, but my mind won't stop going. It does that sometimes." She pulled her fingers through her hair, straightening it. Then she exhaled. "I really should just take watch now. I'm going to be up anyway." A shrug was made.

"No, you aren't." He disagreed bluntly. Then he glanced off to the side. "I have been on edge myself, though. Something tells me this is a night to be wary. So perhaps the both of us remaining aware would be for the best." There it was— That slight inch he'd given her, so she gleefully took her mile by throwing her blanket around her shoulders and waddling to his side of the fire. He watched flatly as she flopped onto the ground beside him, giving a sigh seemingly of relief and squirming under the blanket to get comfortable. Even _he_ could see that her amount of enthusiasm was too much. "What?" He uttered, narrowing his eyes with a suspicious frown.

She laughed, giving the Horseman his confirmation before even speaking. "No, no, nothing." She chortled, voice quietly matching the glow cast on them. "If I told you, that would ruin it. So just trust me when I say it isn't bad." A sidelong smile was sent at him.

He took a second to damn it all to hell, and then replied in blatant doubt, "When one tells me to trust them, it means there is a reason why I shouldn't." There was a period of time where she rubbed the back of her neck in sheepishness and insincere guilt, but other than that, she did not refute him.

"Fine, fine." She sighed in dramatic, reluctant defeat. "You've been more… How should I say it? Open? You've been telling me your thoughts without me asking, recently. You've been seeking my counsel, and it's strange, but that makes me happy. I want to help bear the burden too, you know." Her swathed form gave a jump that may have been a shrug, but he wasn't too sure. The only thing he knew at the moment was that her small head poking out of the top of such a bulky blanket was slightly ridiculous-looking.

Yet, his brows lifted from their heavy droop in appraisal. "Whatever burden there is, is not for you to bear." He spoke stonily, making his thoughts on the matter very clear. "You ride with us, but nothing more. Our responsibilities will not fall to you." His expression darkened again, and he saw her own face become crestfallen.

"…Yeah, I know." She mumbled, looking into the fire glumly. "I'm not saying I'll go eternally pledge myself to an ancient power so I won't spend the rest of my short life being hunted or anything. The upkeep of the Balance is your duty, I know that. But…" Then her smile returned, tentatively peeking at him from over a fold of the grey cloth surrounding her. "I can at least do my honor and duty to the universe by seeing to the upkeep of the Horsemen, can't I?" With a stretch, her arms raised into the air, then delicately folded themselves upon his straightened leg to be used as a makeshift pillow. A single eye looked at him from over them. "Having such a big job should mean having a little support, shouldn't it?"

War said nothing, keeping his prophet-eyed gaze upon the cooling fire, and it was an indeterminate amount of time before he actually noticed the fact. He was about to nudge the flames back to life with the stick again, briefly berating himself for letting them get so low— But then he remembered the weight still rested upon his thigh, oddly comfortable in spite of the metal of his armor being less than plush. …not that the ground had been much better, he admitted.

But place something soft to something hard, and it will adjust, conform to its shape. Being someone far from brutal enough to live their life, she did it against all odds. She slept on the ground, fought in their battles, spilled her blood and shared their victories with them. And now she did the same, but in a more literal sense…

Quelling his thoughts before they could betray him— _and her_ , his honor added defiantly— War frowned at the slowly-ousting flames. Then, he decided that it was too cold, and yet too dark to go without it. Unfolding his other leg from supporting his arm, he gave an outer log a push, freeing embers to consume their oxygen and renew the vigor with which the flames now danced.

Pulling his leg back up, satisfied, he glanced back down at his companion to find her fast asleep, and let out a sighed growl of an irked nature. He may be larger than her in every possible way, but her ability to somehow fall asleep on his person was remarkable in its own right.

…And, perhaps, it wasn't in _every_ single way.

Her talent for sowing the seeds of chaos far exceeded his.

For the first time that night, War cast his eyes above, and looked at the stars for but a moment. Everything he heard earlier was still in occurrence, hadn't stopped nor paused in the wake of his partner. She affected little, left no trace.

There was profound silence, though— Not outside, within their camp, but within him. He is rage, a killing blade, destruction incarnate. But now, there was silence, and there was no flinch when his prosthetic hand gently alighted upon a covered back.

Never before had he found defeat, and yet… Why was it that, right now, it was she that rested upon his laurels?

War did not know.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Holy moley, deep and introspective War is easy to get lost in. e.e

Take that as you will.


End file.
